Organic Birth

April is cesarean awareness month. It is rather timely, since the new statistics are out on our cesarean rate. The US now has a 32% cesarean rate overall, with some states ranging much higher, like New Jersey, who has an average of 40% cesareans out of all the births taking place. Yikes.

I've had a cesarean. It was my first journey into motherhood that resulted in my child being cut out of me. At the time, I was an innocent. I took an out of hospital childbirth class with an ICEA-certified instructor. We planned a natural birth. From the moment I entered the hospital, the nurses shushed me. Apparently I was disturbing the other mothers. Hmmm. I was taught in class and in the books I had read to make sounds to help push the energy through my body during contractions. Since I had never suffered anything truly painful in my life, this was the most intense, painful experience I had had to date.

I was told my CNM had been there for 24 hours already, and she was tired. She came to look in on me and gave me a pelvic exam. Coincidentally, my water broke during this exam. Looking back, I feel certain she broke my waters at that moment, even though when it happened she looked at me and said, "Oops... looks like your water just broke!" In every labor since then, if the care provider did not break my water, it has unfailingly broken late in active labor... either just before transition or during transition. Oh, if I only knew then what I know now.

The nurses came in later to tell my that my midwife was eating, but she recommended that I have a paracervical so I could rest. It was noon. I had awoken with contractions at 6 am. I wasn't tired. I admit I subscribed to beached whale syndrome... I was in the bed and happy to be there. I didn't want to get up and walk around. It hurt. But I was content to moan through my contractions and just be. The nurses brought in the midwife, who convinced us that "it was for the best" if I got the paracervical.

They don't do paracervicals anymore. It consisted of two very painful injections into the nerve bundles of my cervix. "Ouch" doesn't even begin to cover it. The pain of the contractions went away. I tried to be a good patient and sleep, but I couldn't. But the midwife got a nap.

Before I knew it, an hour had passed and the paracervical wore off. OMG! THE PAIN! All the paracervical did was get rid of my endorphins, leaving me to come back to full blown labor. If they thought I was uncooperative before about staying in bed, I wouldn't let them budge me now. I moaned louder than ever. The nurses had a quick powwow and woke the midwife, who came to their rescue to suggest an epidural.

I was afraid of the epidural. I've never been a big fan of needles, and after the needles in my cervix I really wanted nothing to do with needles. She wore us down. What did we know? We were naive first-timers and all the books I'd read and the classes I'd attended flew out the window. Finally, we agreed. The nurses must have done a private dance in the hall, because I was quiet. One told me, "You're really a nice person when you're not in pain." Gee, thanks.

The epidural was placed. The pain subsided. By 4pm, I was complete and ready to push. We pushed. And pushed. The midwife sat between my knees with her fingers stuck inside me, pushing down, saying, "Push HERE." Umm... I was numb... I thought I WAS pushing there. The OB stuck her head in to see how things were going. Finally, after two hours of getting nowhere, they told us I needed a cesarean.

Suddenly, everyone was in a rush. I was surrounded by people doing things to me. My husband was pushed off to the corner. Before I knew it, I was being wheeled down the hall, getting dizzy from seeing the lights pass overhead.

In the OR, I swear I was all alone. They had moved me to the operating table and strapped me down with my legs together and my arms extended out like a crucifixion. I couldn't move. The epidural wore off. No one came in. I moaned through my contractions, pushing because it was the only thing my body wanted to do even though my legs were strapped together. This went on for some time. I talked to my baby to say it would be all right, trying to reassure myself as much as the baby. I learned later they were trying to locate an anesthesiologist. My husband said it was at least 45 minutes before they came to get him, so I must have been on my own at least a half hour before the anesthesiologist showed up to renew my epidural.

Once the epidural was back in force, the room swarmed with people. I asked the doctor to please tell me what she was doing. I explained that I would rather know than guess. Instead, a few of them talked about vacation plans they had. Hello... I was awake and right there. My husband got to see my uterus, my bladder and intestines. He got to see our little girl. I heard one cry and they whisked her to the nursery, taking my husband with them.

Now the long repair began. I am grateful that the doctor sutured me with two layers and I didn't have staples. But this wasn't my idea of having a baby. After what seemed like an eternity, I was wheeled to recovery where I could finally lay eyes on my daughter. I fell in love immediately, and we managed to begin breastfeeding without too much trouble.

Looking back, however, I see the dangerous cascade of interventions laid out for us and the pressure for us to accept them. I wish I had been stronger. I wish my water hadn't been broken so early. I wish I had resisted all of their suggestions with more resolve. The reason for the cesarean was "failure to progress due to malpresentation." My daughter had slid into place when my water broke with her chin up, not tucked. She was trying to come out forehead first. It didn't make for a good presentation coupled with the epidural.

I'm sure many women share my story. I'm sure it is far more common now with many doctors and hospitals eager to cut. While I didn't let it bother me at first, it did make me seek answers. I read Silent Knife by Suzanne Arms. I studied childbirth education, labor support and eventually became a midwifery student. If I only knew back then. It bothers me so much more now that I can see what happened more clearly.

Since then, I have spoken with many women who experienced similar births; some not as bad as mine and others far worse. We have shared stories and wept. I was one of the lucky ones who went on to have several successful VBACs, both in the hospital and at home. It is so much harder for women to do this now.

We need to speak up for our rights. We need to demand the chance to VBAC if we wish. We need the freedom to walk away from a provider if they pull the wool over our eyes until later in pregnancy when suddenly they begin talking of scheduling that next c-section. We need to show them with our dollars who we prefer to birth with and where we prefer to birth. Talk to your legislators as well. Don't let anyone tell you how you can birth. We deserve the right to let the next birth unfold as it will. Maybe it will be a wonderful vaginal birth. Maybe we will end up needing surgical assistance. But we need the choice to try.