Below is my story about the difference in atmosphere between a vaginal birth (labor) and a non-emergency cesarean. It is my story about birthing my babies in between conversations of the personal lives of my medical team. Also, I never thought I'd ever post a picture behind the curtain, but here I am, posting it above - excuse my wrinkly forehead.
Contractions were rolling in less than one minute apart. I could barely catch my breath between them. My husband looked beat up from lack of sleep and constant attention to each of my groans. We had been laboring for two full days non stop. Our birthing suite was calm, perfectly lit with flickering battery operated candles. I barely noticed the nurse tiptoeing in to listen to the baby each hour. My midwife would come in to assess how my labor was progressing. If she needed to speak she used soft, hushed tones. Looking back, I realize although my labor was intense, it was serene.
My birthing suite was a sanctuary and everyone who entered respected it as such.
Skip forward a day and a half, I was laying practically naked in a sterile room and all spotlights were on me. The room was bustling with my medical team. They were laughing and swapping stories about having martinis at a nearby club. The anesthesiologist approached the table, I didn't really hear anything he said. And it wasn't because I was still in active labor with pushing contractions, I was just processing how incredibly good looking he was. My midwife reiterated his instructions and I positioned myself against her curling over my pregnant belly as he administered the spinal. The spinal was in and I'm laid back on the table. I was drugged almost unconscious, but awake enough to hear, see, smell, and -I'd soon realize- throw up. My husband enters stage left, I greet him with a sheepish grin. He looked nervous. Everyone was still talking all at once. I closed my eyes and forgot for a second that I was about to birth my firstborn son. With my eyes closed, I would have thought I was sitting at a bar on UPenn's campus.
A few minutes later, my son is presented to me and I turn my face away to throw up.
Two years and two days later, I was 1,600 miles away from the West Philadelphia hospital where my son was born. I was fully present as I entered the OR for my scheduled c-section. My daughter was locked in transverse position which had landed me on the table again. The sweet nurse assisting my prep insisted I looked like Kelly Ripa. I found it amusing as I still felt like a whale with my bulging pregnant belly and plump cheeks. The anesthesiologist approached the table and greeted me, he was an eye sore compared to my last experience. I was trembling this time and not because I was in active labor, but out of fear. Laying back on the table, my five senses were still intact. I sized up the room and located the exit, hoping to find my husband making his way inside the OR. I glanced to the window just right of the door and met a familiar face. Making uncomfortable eye contact, I straightened and stared at the ceiling. The man in the window was the second doctor who would be assisting in my surgery. He also is the gentleman who sits next to my family in church. I've enjoyed listening to him sing beside me on several Sundays. For some reason, sitting on a table exposed and finding him looking towards me seemed strange.
I find the OR dated similar to most establishments in the Virgin Islands. The spinal was starting to take effect so I clenched my fists hoping to keep feeling in my hands so that I could touch and feel my baby when she would be presented to me. My husband entered the room. The nurse sitting behind me introduced herself to him. After a few introductions, we realized the nurse lives by some of my husbands coworkers. She mentioned to my husband that she thinks I look like Kelly Ripa which made Ted laugh too. My OB walked in and semi greeted us. I don't think she likes my husband. The assisting doctor walked in with warm greetings. Both doctors took their seats on either side of the table. They cut me open in almost silence, save some whispering that I couldn't quite make out. I felt continuous tugging and started to worry. My nurse reassured me everything was going well after I question how long it was taking. Finally, I heard my baby girl. My husband was called over to receive her. He cut the umbilical cord and watched as she was weighed. He brought her by my face and my nurse snapped a picture.
Soon after our first meeting, my husband exited with our new baby girl.
After my husband and newborn had left the room, the conversations started flowing. My OB explained her plan of retirement to the assisting doctor. Patients like me, pregnant and giving birth, are far too time consuming and she hopes to stop accepting them. She would like some easy patients, not ones that are demanding of her time, for the remainder of her career. She also gave a timeline for when she plans on retirement. I finally understood her annoyance with me the last nine months.
There is something sacred about bringing a life into the world.
While I never planned to bring my children into the world through surgery, I also didn't plan on hearing about retirement plans seconds after my child's birth. It seemed distasteful. In my original and hopeful birth plan, I had dreamt of glowing faces, my husband crying, my midwife pleased, a breast crawl, and my baby with me at all times. The births of my two children have played out drastically different. I do not feel like less of a woman because I didn't have a vaginal birth. I felt brave making decision that went against what I wanted. I felt brave making my requests known. I plead with everyone involved to give me time to connect with my son and daughter on the OR table or soon after leaving the OR. I plead to breastfeed as soon as possible. I plead to be with my husband and my baby. At times, I felt like my pleas where just another noise in the midst of OR chatter.
What made me feel like less of a woman was that I was treated more like a a surgical patient and not a birthing mother.
I was never in an emergency situation with either birth of my two children. I am truly grateful for healthy deliveries and the ability to have medical help, including surgical delivery, when it is needed. Since cesareans are more common in our culture today, I would like to speak up about giving birthing moms a sanctuary rather than a frat or retirement party in the OR. Let's make birth by surgery a motherly experience with glowing faces and leave the table chatter until after.
My husband and I hope to have another baby or babies. I still hope I can have a redemptive VBAC; but, if I end up having another cesarean so be it. I now know what I will request. I will ask for a sanctuary even in the bright lights of the OR. I will ask for respect in my moment of becoming a mom again to a new life. Not just during the few seconds the baby is presented to the side of my face, but during the whole birth experience from entering and exiting of the OR.
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