My Body Betrayed Me

Before I was pregnant, I viewed childbirth as the most natural thing in the world. I'm not saying I wanted an unmedicated home birth, but I just figured when it was time, my body would figure out what it needed to do. Boy, was I humbled quickly. 

At 37 weeks pregnant, I was diagnosed with gestational hypertension. I think a large part of it was because of my job, which was unnecessarily stressful at the time. But either way, the doctor ordered me to stay home and try to keep my blood pressure down. My doctor and I decided I would be induced at 39 weeks, since my baby was measuring large for gestational age and I was still having borderline high blood pressure readings. I was totally on board with the plan. I was uncomfortable, in pain, and ready to meet my baby!

So, at 39 weeks and 3 days pregnant, I was admitted to the hospital for my scheduled induction. Things moved slowly, but I was assured that was normal since I was a first-time mom. After about 12 hours, I sensed that my medical team was concerned about how slowly I was progressing. They talked to me about placing a Foley balloon, which I agreed to. I wish I had been more prepared for what that actually meant, because it truly was the most intense pain I've ever experienced in my life. I immediately started writhing around, vomiting, and crying. I couldn't stay still. I was begging the nurses for pain medicine, but they wouldn't give it to me since I wasn't staying still enough to monitor the baby. After about 45 minutes of that agony, they removed the balloon, and I felt instant relief. I was 4 centimeters dilated, which was enough to move to labor and delivery. 

When I moved to L&D, I felt a lot better. The nursing team there was fantastic. They got me started on Pitocin right away. Once my contractions started to feel painful, I requested an epidural immediately. I was so scarred from the pain of the Foley balloon, I didn't want to wait to manage my pain with the contractions. After another few hours, a midwife came in to try to manually break my water, but couldn't. I started to get a little nervous at that point, but they assured me it was fine and we would give it some more time. An hour later, I felt a big gush and realized my water had broken! I was thrilled - here we go, now things should really start moving!

But I stayed at 5 centimeters dilated. I never progressed past that, despite being maxed out on Pitocin. After 14 hours of stalled labor, the team came in to talk to me about a C-section. "The baby is large for gestational age, and we're worried he won't fit through the birth canal - that's why your labor is stalling. There is a risk for you and the baby if labor continues to stall..." You get the idea. Both the doctor and the midwife recommended a C-section. My husband and I talked it over and agreed that if the medical team was suggesting it, it was probably the safest thing for the baby and me. 

So, after a few tears and deep breaths, I was whisked away to the operating room. At 12:10pm, my 8-lb (very average for gestational age) baby boy entered this world. It was truly the greatest feeling ever. I got to spend a few minutes with him on my chest, snuggling him, before he and my husband were taken to a recovery room. I lay on the operating room table alone, while they proceeded to stitch up 7 layers of my body. I started to cry again. I have never felt so lonely in my entire life. My baby, whom I had spent the last 9 months carrying with me, was gone, my husband was with him, and I was left alone in a sterile operating room.

Finally, about 45 minutes later, I was reunited with my family. Seeing my baby again and getting to hold him was so emotional. I was so happy.

But then, after bringing home a healthy baby from the hospital, I started processing my birth story. 

My body betrayed me. The thought kept rippling through my mind. 

The most natural thing in the world, and my body couldn't figure it out. It wasn't that my baby was too big. I had just failed to progress in labor. The questions kept flooding through my mind. Was it a mistake to get induced? Did I get the epidural too early? Maybe I agreed to the C-section too quickly...

My husband and parents kept reminding me that the goal was a healthy mom and baby, and that we had accomplished that goal. But it didn't help. I was really traumatized by the whole thing. My whole perception of the world had shifted. My body betrayed me. It couldn't figure out how to do the most natural thing in the world. 

If I'm being 100% honest, I still feel some trauma and shame over how the whole thing unfolded, even 15 months later. I question myself and my decisions constantly, something I didn't use to do before this experience. I question the validity of my body. If it couldn't do this, what else can't it do? Was it my fault? Should I have tried to lose more weight before I got pregnant? Should I have exercised more during my pregnancy? Should I have taken some birthing prep classes? Every time my c-section scar has a twinge of pain, I get a little reminder of how my body failed me.  

But, through it all, I'm also learning to love my scar, to love my body. It gave me the greatest gift ever. It grew my beautiful baby boy from scratch and nourished him for the next 10 months. I gave my body to my son for 20 months, growing him, feeding him, and loving him. Now it's my turn to fall back in love with my body. Fall back in love with myself. Trust my decision-making process. Trust my gut. 

My body betrayed me. But my body also gave me the greatest gift ever. And I think I'll sit in the uncomfortable duality of that for a little while longer.