A C-Section Birth Story: Sorrowful, yet Always Rejoicing

This birth story is hard to tell and even harder to accept at times. With my first pregnancy, I had an awful first trimester, but I flew through the rest of pregnancy and birth with pride and poise. My birth was uneventful and yet I have never felt stronger, more empowered, more love for a tiny human, and more understanding of the need to extend love and grace to all children, of all ages (humanity). The birthing process changed me and moved me. I saw life and people with new eyes and a new heart.

 

 

I expected a similar outcome and the same ecstasy with my second birth. 

 

 

My waters broke at 3:30 a.m. and I messaged my best friend to fill her in on the latest details. Oddly enough, she forgot to turn off her phone that night and responded. We talked about if I was ready for this birth to be different from the first (I struggle with change) and how my heart was coping. My heart was strong and I was accepting of a different birth and at peace with how the day might go. I thought “different birth” might mean more difficult, a larger baby or even some stitches required. I never imagined three hours of pushing, nitrous oxide, an ambulance ride, a million needles, an epidural, a c-section, a hospital stay and the pain in my spirit thereafter.

 

I’m glad deep in my soul, I was able to accept the change of events when I needed to. When the doctor said the baby wasn’t descending further into the birth canal and that forceps or vacuum were not an option, I was able to trust and embrace the conclusion: a c-section. (I was even hoping to comfort my midwife and tried to make sure she was okay! I can still remember the sadness and compassion in her eyes …)

 

However, it wasn’t until my second night of my hospital stay that the “trauma” sank in. The birth process felt incomplete. It was like I wasn’t present at Amelie’s birth. It all felt so very wrong. I wanted a do over, another chance.

 

I was handed a brown haired baby an hour after my c-section and I just thought, “Are you sure she’s mine?”  Although very thankful for a healthy baby and a healthy me, this is not what caused a deep sense of grief and grieving.

 

Some other writers were able to express other aspects of my pain and story better than I can put into words myself:

• “Women grieve stolen birth experiences very deeply, but their grief often remains private because modern birth culture maintains that a healthy baby is the one and only goal. The roots of “the healthy baby lie” are found in the reality of birth, that the outcome is unknown and one potential outcome is, quite undeniably, death. But to women, birth means a great deal more than being alive afterwards. Birth is the introduction to their baby, it matters a great deal. “
• “A traumatic birth is actually quite comparable to this scenario – an experience full of blessing and gratitude but mixed with sorrow; and perhaps accompanied by distressing memories which can be hard to overcome.”
• “It can be like planning a wedding that never happened. You’ve been preparing  physically and emotionally for something that in some ways went very wrong. It’s as if you planned a wedding and then when things went pear shaped, you ended up eloping at city hall. You’d still have a husband, but you’d have a very real sense of loss.”

A dear friend was able to bring some beautiful insight into my story from her experience. She had an emergency/unplanned
c-section with her daughter, too. A turning point for her, came from a children’s book called,  “On the Night You Were Born” and this same imagery resonated with me as well. 

Compared to my first birth, I did not feel or hear these trumpets sound. There didn’t seem to be any real sense of celebration over my sweet Amelie. It did not feel like a time of joy – it was neither wonderful, nor marvelous.

 

This is where I have had to go beyond feeling and lean on truth. I have taken so much comfort in knowing that even though I didn’t feel like I was present at the birth, even though I didn’t feel like this was a time of jubilation, God’s trumpets still sounded over Amelie, just like they did for Hazel. The trumpets did sound. It was wonderful. It was marvelous. She is just as much a child of the King as Hazel and how she entered this world will never take that away.

 

My God rejoiced over her more than I ever could or will. 

 

Even though I am still not able to look at the scar on my belly for more than a few seconds, even though touching the scar is unthinkable at this time, even though the scar will never let me forget what I wish I could, I am growing in grace for what it means to be “sorrowful yet always rejoicing“. 

 

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I am still a firm believer in woman’s ability to birth naturally, and the neccessity to support and normalize this beautiful process. I wish more women were lovingly cared for to walk through this time of intense physical and emotional change. Even though my second birth was not “natural”, no one ever doubted or belittled me. I was empowered and loved throughout the entire process – even if that meant a c-section. How often can that be said? I encourage my readers (especially Albertans!), to write to their MLA to both continue and increase funding for midwifery care.

 

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