The Trial of Labor

The other day I was alone with my daughter and marveled over how “perfect” she is.  “I am so lucky to have you!” I proclaimed.  She replied, “but not lucky about our baby?”  I was shell-shocked.  How did she know to connect my thankfulness for having her with my regret in losing her siblings?  “Mommy, did our baby die in your tummy?”

Today I was telling her that we were about to go to her great grandfather’s funeral.  “Honey, our Dad-dad is in Heaven with God.  Dad-dad died.”  A few minutes later she asked, “Mommy, are you going to die?”  “Not for a long long time, sweetheart.”  And I kissed her forehead.  That seemed to satisfy her for the moment.

The wisdom of a three year old is awesome.

Every day people ask me how I’m doing.  When I can tell that they really mean to ask “how are you doing?” I tell them:  “Each day is different.”  Actually, each moment is different.  I can be going about my daily routine and completely get caught off guard.

Today my only child wanted “up” for “snuggles.”  “I can’t pick you up right now, baby,” I explained.  “How come???”  And I told her that when the baby went to see God that it hurt my belly.  Then, feeling her soft baby(ish) skin against me I was overcome with sadness.  “Mommy, are you crying?  Do you miss the baby?  Mommy, you miss the baby just like I miss the baby.”  I picked up my 40-pound toddler even though I’m not supposed to do so, and she dried my tears with her shirt.  Ugh, when a 3-year-old is consoling a 35-year-old . . . pretty sad.

Monday was my first day back at work.  I had seen a psychologist the Wednesday before.  He thought it was incredibly poor form for the OB to have suggested that I would go back to work 2 days after a curretage procedure for a third-time miscarriage.  Indeed, I felt incredibly guilty but relieved not to be at work the rest of last week.  I went to a student recital on Tuesday night, and I could hardly take the sadness, concern, and sympathy in my students’ and colleagues’ eyes.

This past Monday I was more or less ready to be back at work.  Tuesday I was already feeling tired and overwhelmed.  Today was awful.  I taught 6 voice lessons and a theory class and didn’t have time during my lunch break for lunch.  I got home and my husband had to leave, so I was left to figure out dinner and put our daughter to bed.

I am not winning any mother of the year awards.  I found a pizza in the freezer.  My daughter is watching Noggin’ while I type.  My husband should be done with his stuff in 5 minutes, but I need to put her to bed before he gets home.  I dread night time still.  Night time means sleep which means that the next day sneaks up on me.  It’s been 2 weeks since I first became aware of problems with my pregnancy.  How can that be?  How has nearly 2 weeks passed since the ultrasound that revealed my dead baby???

I’ve slept some since then.  I’ve drunk some since then.  I’ve taken zanax since then.

Every day is different.  Perhaps that is what gives me the strength to keep waking up “tomorrow.”  No, that’s not it - it’s knowing that my little family depends on me.  Right now there’s not much more that gets me to “tomorrow,” but maybe that’s ok. 

My sister-in-law’s birth experience came up in discussion this week when we were home visiting.  We knew at the time of her cesarean that the baby was likely premature - even at 41+ weeks - because of the thick coating of vernix on her when she was extracted from my SIL’s body and based on her mother’s gestational pattern.  Her OB of course recommends repeat cesarean for future childbirth.  Perhaps some of the reasoning is valid, but personally, I think she’s being misinformed and discriminated against.

My husband asked her if she was interested in a VBAC or would go with the OB’s recommendation, and she said “I don’t care.”  She doesn’t care?  How can that be?  How can she say that in front of me knowing damned well that I DO CARE!

Because I do care!

Telling a woman like me that you don’t care is offensive.  I do care.  I care that my baby likely was unnecessarily removed via major abdominal surgery.  I care that the physical and emotional effects of this surgery may not be seen in and by my daughter until later in life.  I have just this year (at age 34) begun to learn about and remedy some of the ill effects of my own cesarean birth.  I also care that my brother’s wife was subject to interventions that lead to cesarean birth.  I really care that she was subjected to a surgery that could have prematurely ended her own life.  Stories of maternal death during or shortly following cesarean surgery are working their way into the mainstream media.

We know that this is not the best way for babies to be born unless it is an emergency situation.  We know that babies who are born via cesarean section risk breathing issues, spinal issues, being accidentally cut, being seperated at birth from his/her mother, needing NICU support, as well as emotional and chemical problems in the future.

Because of what “I don’t care” implies

She said she doesn’t care to my husband and me knowing full well that we do care.  She knows about my work with ICAN.  By saying “I don’t care”, she made me feel like she doesn’t believe in the work I am doing or honor my birth philosophy.  Instead of saying “I don’t care” so bluntly, she could have said something much more tactful.  Try “I’m not sure which path I will take, but given my reproductive health history I will likely do as my doctor recommends and schedule a repeat section.”

My whole being in invested in two very important personal issues: (1) cesarean awareness and advocacy through ICAN; (2) miscarriage - cause, prevention, “treatment”.  By saying “I don’t care”, I am left feeling like she doesn’t care about me.  (Now, I recognize this as a bit extreme.  I know she does care about me, but she didn’t care to think about how this statement would hurt me.  This happened days ago and I still hurt.)

Because of who says it

I’d imagine that you or I are more likely to hear something along these lines from someone we care about - a close friend or family member.  This makes it all the more painful.  If some idiot woman I don’t know or like said this to me, it would roll right off.  But the horrible things our family members and friends say to us are really tough to forgive and forget.  I know that I must forgive and forget, and that’s partially why I am writing this post. 

Because she should care

I recognize that I have no power over another person’s decision to care about health care decisions made for them.  However, does that mean that I back off and let a family member be led to medical decisions that could adversely affect her family?  This is tricky for sure.  I have no desire to badger her and don’t want to negatively impact my relationship with her and my brother, but it is really hard to stay silent when your family chooses to stick its head in the sand.  They’d just rather I stick my head in there with them than have to endure one of my “rants”, as I am sure they see it.

I don’t want to negate anyone’s birth experience.  I don’t want to tell another woman how she should plan childbirth.  However, I believe it is my Calling to advocate, support, and educate women (and their families) with regard to safe and ethical health care decisions specific to prenatal, childbirth, and postnatal care.

What is so offensive about that?  Why should my caring be taken so poorly or treated as trivial?

‘Tis the Season to be Reminded Why My Family Drives Me Nuts . . .
Fa la la la la!

Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop sound the donkey’s hooves.  Mary & Joseph and the baby in her womb are on a long journey.

“Joseph, would you please stop for a moment.”

“What’s going on, Mary?”

“Uhh . . . ohhh . . . . .

Ow!”

“Joseph, I think this baby wants out.  I’m in labor, dear.”

“Criminy, Mary!  We’re in the middle of nowhere.  Let’s try to make it to Bethlehem at the very least.”

Mary focuses on her deep breathing and uses the rhythmic motion of the donkey’s stride to her advantage as she labors.  She notices that the sky is a deep blue color and the stars are out.  The evening is quiet and warm.  Her trusty steed plods along patiently.  Her steadfast husband who guides the donkey looks back often to check on his laboring bride.

“You hangin’ in there, Mary?”

“Uh huh.  OOOOWWWWW!” she groans.

“We’ll be there soon.  Look, I can see the outline of town ahead on the horizon.”

Soon they arrive in Bethlehem.  It is quite late, and it is clear that their entrance into town was an imposition.  They request lodging and are turned away several times.  Finally, they are at least offered a spot in the barn.  Mary & Joseph are weary and happy to have any shelter in which to rest.  Mary is able to rest between her contractions, and even Joseph catches a bit of shut eye.  They are lulled by the sounds of cows, horses, and chickens in the stable.

“Joseph.  JOSEPH!  I think it’s nearly time!!”  Mary cries out.  Joseph is startled awake.  He rubs his face and gets ready for the birth of his child. 

He encourages her.  “Mary, I am seeing his dark hair.”  And soon there after he exclaims, “You almost have him out!”  Joseph is so proud of Mary.  He can hardly fathom how she instinctually knows what to do. 

“Can I do anything for you, Mary?”

“Please hold my hair off of my neck and out of my face.”

“Ah much better, dear.  Thank you!”

Mary continues to push with Joseph assisting in any way he can.  After what seemed like an eternity (but was more likely two or so hours), Mary birthed a son.

Mary & Joseph’s son was to be called Jesus.  He is the Son of God.  Shepherds and wise men alike knew of his birth and were guided to his birthplace by the brightest star in the sky.  They brought him gifts and honored his parents, especially Mary who was brave and faithful enough to endure the physical and social burden of carrying this particular precious child.

“Behold!  A virgin shall conceive and bear a son. 
And shall call his name Immanuel.  God with Us.”

Today is Saturday (barely), November 17. 

I started to lose my last pregnancy 7 weeks ago tomorrow (October 7).

Menses finally returned yesterday.

I saw a very pregnant lady tonight at a concert.  I was intensely jealous.

I see new babies every day.  They excite me.

A baby is in my future.  But when.  Will the next pregnancy be successful?

A baby is in my future.  But when.  Will the next vaginal birth be successful?

No, you’re absolutely right . . . this is completely NOT related to anything I normally talk about.  Well, I did post about my husband a few days ago.  Here he is dressed as Richard Simmons at a Halloween party we attended this past weekend.  Yeah, he won best costume, LoL! 

(I am in the purple “moulin rouge” dress.  DH & I are dancing with our friend, “Hahn” Solo . . . or is he Bo Duke?)

This morning we took breakfast materials over to our friends’ home.  Our daughter spent the night there since she was being babysat there while we adults were at a big Halloween party.  [I was a moulin rouge inspired burlesque girl; my husband was Richard Simmons (you've got to watch this video of RS on "Whose Line Is It Anyway") and won best male costume.  Too bad my friend's camera was stolen; I'd've loved to share some pictures with you!]

Anyway, Missoula birth reality came into the conversation, and I couldn’t hardly believe my ears.  MY HUSBAND WAS TALKIN’ THE TALK.  I think he’s starting to “get it” - why I am so worried about attempting a hospital VBAC here.  He recognizes how bad the “odds” are that I would have a successful VBAC in our hospital since they only had 16 successful VBACs there in 2006.  Like me, he is alarmed by the frequency of cesarean birth.  He is aware of the cost/time ratio for cesarean vs. natural (as in non-medicated non-invasive) vaginal birth.  

Does that mean he’s down with a homebirth VBAC?  I doubt he’ll ever be fully comfortable with it, but I think he knows that we’re on a journey to HBAC.  I’m so proud of him.  He’s starting to conquer his fear, and that adds to my confidence as well.

Every few days I look at my weblog statistics to see how people find my weblog and what they read.  I am glad that people are finding my weblog and hope that even one person takes comfort in knowing that they are not alone in their own struggles.  Misery does love company though I regret having this kind of company.

This is what makes me sad.  So many people are searching for answers with regard to miscarriage, grief, cesarean scars, uterine rupture, and the like.  Every day people happen upon my site because they are struggling to understand, cope with, and relate to others who share these experiences. 

My heart goes out to each and every one of you who are faced with the issues that I discuss on this weblog.  I wish I could hug each and every one of you.  Please know that you are not alone.  Find the support that you need.  Find that support that enables you to speak your Truth, loud and clear.

I was thrilled to read Navelgazing Midwife’s thoughts on The Business of Being Born.  I’m just getting so excited about bringing this to Missoula!

I’d like to pull a couple of points out of her post and subsequent article to pique your interest (if that’s even necessary)!

When someone goes in as a natural birth advocate, they come out a natural birth fanatic. I am not kidding. We’ve watched as pregnant woman after pregnant woman walked into the movie a hospital patient and walk out with a list of midwives in their hand or Dr. Wonderful’s card if they are still unsure about birthing outside of the hospital.

And families who were initially hesitant to support a midwifery-attended birth have become ardent supporters intent on converting their misunderstanding friends.

This is unfortunate:

I’m finding it challenging to get the press to either view the movie or to cover the importance of it in our community. It seems some people find natural birth not newsworthy… a big ol’ yawn.

Indeed:

Together, we can bring more people to know what we’ve known for far too long.

Amen!

What in the world do I mean by “forced motherhood”.  This isn’t something I gave much thought to until more recently.  It’s been nearly three years since my cesarean, and yet I find new ways to process that experience.  I simply mean that motherhood doesn’t always come naturally to women who have undergone cesarean surgery.  Some days we have to force ourselves to trudge onward.

I was able to force myself to mother my son when my mind kept telling me he wasn’t really mine. On a very animal level, I felt no connection.

The quote above (used with permission) from a real live mother friend of mine, and it’s quite a profound statement in my opinion.  I’ve questioned my own disconnect from my daughter and still feel like I’m missing an important link to her somehow.  On days like today, this really breaks my heart

I was told that I would crave my baby after she was born.  I didn’t have that strong “mothering instinct” after my cesarean, and I felt like my baby girl was a foreigner.  Huh.  Wow, I feel like crying just for even writing this.  Oh God, how horrible and tragic is that.

I had a quick and easy physical recovery from the cesarean . . . not the norm, I know.  I still felt like I had done the MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER by having a child and caring for her.  But it didn’t feel natural.  I wasn’t viscerally connected to her when she came to exist outside of my body.

I was able to send her to the hospital nursery with only a bit of guilt (more because I felt like I was supposed to feel guilty not because it was too hard to be separated from her).  She took well to breastfeeding, no problem.  On the other hand, I didn’t have trouble letting her feed from a bottle either.  I didn’t feel weird about leaving her with her dad or grandparents or trusted friends.  Even now, nearly 3 years later, I can travel for a few days without my husband and my daughter and enjoy myself.  Am I that cold stone bitch?  Am I an animal who rejects her young?  Maybe.  I don’t think so.  But many nights after my husband & I get home and get her from daycare we just can’t WAIT for her to go to bed.  We only get to be with her for 2 or 3 hours a day during the week, and all I want to do sometimes is put her to bed.  Am I that stone cold bitch?  Am I that animal who has rejected her young?  Yes, I feel incredibly selfish and I hate it.  So then I have to ask . . . am I damaged and is my relationship with my daughter damaged from “cesarean  disconnect”???

And how am I going to feel if I fail to VBAC in the future?  How will I forgive myself if I fail at a hospital VBAC?  Will I beat myself up and especially my husband for not going the HBAC route?  If I choose a HBAC and have to transfer or have an emergency, will I be able to forgive myself for failing?  I won’t have a hospital or medical care provider to blame . . .  only myself.  If I die or if my baby dies, will my husband forgive me and how will we/he move on???

Oh, today is a sad day, a low day in my motherhood journey.