miraculous having children is, I was convinced by others and by myself that the doctors had failed me. That I had failed. They had ripped me of the true birth experience and that I was somehow incomplete because of this.
As soon as that stick turned pink, I started planning. I researched birth plans. I told my husband what I wanted as far as pain medication and made him swear that he would stand by my side. I knew I couldn't use a mid-wife because of my high risk history, but by golly I was going to have the birth I wanted and I was willing to stomp my feet to get it. I told my doctor early in and got irritated when he told me he would allow me to try but we needed to prepare for the possibility that it likely would end up in a c-section again. My militant friends encouraged me to stand my ground.
|Yes, yes I am drugged but look at that sweet big sister!|
This brings us to the story above. My son, began to make his arrival at 34 weeks. After more terbutaline shots than I care to remember we resigned ourselves to delivery that day. At this point I was still determined to VBAC. At my first ultrasound the tech noticed that he was slight transverse. In a woman with a normal uterus, this isn't a huge deal. The statistic I looked up gave me about a 2% chance of rupture. A 98% success rate isn't bad so I would have risked it, but I wasn't normal. Because my condition means I have a weak uterine wall on the side that didn't develop and I had already had a cesarean which further weakened the wall, my son's head was putting enormous amounts of pressure and stretching my uterine wall insanely thin every time I had a contraction. My uterus was an "if" it was a "when" The decision was made. I would fail. I would have a c-section.
I spent the next several months secretly hating myself for not following through. I looked for reasons why my doctor would want to trick me into a VBAC. I villianized him for not supporting me more. As time passed, I thought less and less about it, but it still nagged at me every time a friend posted an article about the horrors of hospital birth, or posted about how they were so thankful they didn't have to use a doctor and each time it stabbed that little part of my heart. And then one day I stopped, I looked at my son and I kicked myself. My birth experiences were not failures. I was not a failure. My doctors were not out to get me. They were placed there in my life by the same grace that led to my the conception of my miracles. My doctors were part of my miracle. Instead of looking at my experience as a failure I started looking at it as an amazing work of God. I could have been born in a different century without our modern technology and my oldest would have surely died. I could have insisted on the VBAC and both my son and I could have died, but we listened to the wisdom of God through our medical team and instead of a tragedy we experienced more grace. MY BIRTH EXPERIENCE INVOLVED A HOSPITAL, DOCTORS AND A C-SECTION AND WAS STILL A MIRACLE!
|My c-section miracle|
Of course, there were some decisions I would have made differently had I been older, wiser, and more experienced, but I wasn't. I was a young mother, going through a difficult pregnancy and dealing with premature labor. I am also not a fan of elective c-sections and induction. God has provided us some wonderful ways to welcome our babies into the world. For some that will include a midwife, a big bathtub and a room full of supporters, for others it will be a hospital an epidural and a c-section, but make no mistake, God is both the author of natural medicine and modern medicine!