A surgical birth does not feel like giving birth to me. I do not feel like I have ever "given birth". My babies are removed. They are ripped from me by a surgeons hand. They are not brought into this world as nature intends. I have battled with actually feeling like a real mother since C was born. I feel like a fraud and a fake when they call me mom. I didn't go through birth to make me a mom. I was drugged, strapped down, sliced open and sent on my way. No right of passage did I complete to get the honor of Mom.
My sections were relatively easy, as far as sections go. No infection, no serious adhesions, nothing that really would be challenging. Except the fact that birth did not happen for me.
So no, I have not GIVEN BIRTH. I have beautiful babies and they are mine. They were removed. Not birthed.
Writer's Note: Although I feel this way about MY birth, I do not feel this way about ANYONE ELSE. If you delivered your babies via section and feel you gave birth, good on ya! I do not. I do force my feelings or opinions on you, so do not be offended with the feelings I have about the way MY children came earthside. Thank you, and goodnight.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
How I Feel About it Now
I was asked to read my own story and write down how it makes me feel now so let's get it going.
I've always felt immense shame over what I allowed to happen. What Jon watched happen to me and didn't stop. Why did it happen to me? What was so different about my birth that it went so terribly wrong? The shame is bone deep and opening it all up for anyone to see is hard. And it makes me want to go running for cover. I shared my store with my friends on Facebook. People that I have known all my life and my new friends in our new home. Most were supportive and shocked at what happened. Some couldn't even respond or acknowledge they had seen the words. Some acted as if I should just move the fuck on and get over it. The ones that couldn't respond with even "I read it" hurt a lot. I haven't heard anything from those even now. When I see them again, will they turn away from me because they know? Am I now different because of what I went through? Are they ashamed to know me? To be related to me? What in the world!? And why do I care?
I also feel some serious pride in what Jon and I have created. We came from THAT mess and have created a warm, loving, supportive home for our children. We almost lost everything because of the birth trauma. But we didn't. We fought. Hard. Balls to the wall, everything we had. Many many sleepless nights crying at opposite ends of the couch. Talking about how to fix what was broken. Talking. Talking. Talking. Working it out. Sorting through it. Burning off the bad and tending to the living. Cultivating what we had. Often one of us holding a sleeping baby. Or each other. Yeah, I do feel like we are AMAZING and should get a damn trophy or some shit. We came far. The journey sucked and we almost threw it all away lots of times. But we didn't. And I have my Knight in Shinning Armor and he has his Queen. Fuck you doc! You didn't ruin us.
Fear. My dear friend who is pretty much slogging through all this with me keeps asking me "Holli, what are you afraid of?" Well, dear friend, I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of another section. I'm afraid of my baby dying inside me. I'm afraid of leaving my three darling girls without a mommy. I'm afraid of damaging my relationship with Jon. I'm afraid of going to bat with a doctor and them walking out on me and leaving me along. I'm afraid of another lying midwife telling me that I can't give birth and I should just be happy I can get the baby in there because she had trouble. (Fuck you, by the way.) Although, that chart I saw the other day does help lots and lots with being afraid of dying or losing my baby. The risk is slim. I'm okay with the slim risk.
It also pissed me straight off. Yes, I'm pissed off I consented to the induction without knowing what I was getting into. I walked into that hospital thinking "Oh, this is just a faster way from A to B. We're going in, going to take some pills and I'll be happily holding my gorgeous baby in 12 hours. NBD." Yeah, either they lied to me or I lied to myself. I didn't know that I was shooting off a rocket with my chance of having a section when I walked off that elevator. I had no freggin clue! I didn't know about ICAN. I didn't even know about CafeMom! I didn't know there were resources on the web that would give me information other than what was in What To Expect When You're Expecting. I didn't know Ina May or the Farm bloody existed! I trusted my doctor (Who was an intern herself.) to do what was right. She knew I was terrified of a section and still she let me lay in that bed and pumped me full of pit. WTF? Why not tell me to run! Why didn't I know myself? I let myself down. I made these mistakes myself. I didn't educate myself enough. I didn't read enough. I didn't dig deep enough. I failed us all because I wasn't educated enough. I fucked us over!
I also feel my power. I lived through this. I lived through the depression. I lived through the effects of this. And ya know what? I'm an amazing mommy! I love my kids out loud. Every day. With EVERYTHING I have. If I can survive and still love and feel compassion and generosity and caring, I can give birth to our baby. I know I can. Especially with all the strong mama lions who are surrounding me now. I got this!
I've always felt immense shame over what I allowed to happen. What Jon watched happen to me and didn't stop. Why did it happen to me? What was so different about my birth that it went so terribly wrong? The shame is bone deep and opening it all up for anyone to see is hard. And it makes me want to go running for cover. I shared my store with my friends on Facebook. People that I have known all my life and my new friends in our new home. Most were supportive and shocked at what happened. Some couldn't even respond or acknowledge they had seen the words. Some acted as if I should just move the fuck on and get over it. The ones that couldn't respond with even "I read it" hurt a lot. I haven't heard anything from those even now. When I see them again, will they turn away from me because they know? Am I now different because of what I went through? Are they ashamed to know me? To be related to me? What in the world!? And why do I care?
I also feel some serious pride in what Jon and I have created. We came from THAT mess and have created a warm, loving, supportive home for our children. We almost lost everything because of the birth trauma. But we didn't. We fought. Hard. Balls to the wall, everything we had. Many many sleepless nights crying at opposite ends of the couch. Talking about how to fix what was broken. Talking. Talking. Talking. Working it out. Sorting through it. Burning off the bad and tending to the living. Cultivating what we had. Often one of us holding a sleeping baby. Or each other. Yeah, I do feel like we are AMAZING and should get a damn trophy or some shit. We came far. The journey sucked and we almost threw it all away lots of times. But we didn't. And I have my Knight in Shinning Armor and he has his Queen. Fuck you doc! You didn't ruin us.
Fear. My dear friend who is pretty much slogging through all this with me keeps asking me "Holli, what are you afraid of?" Well, dear friend, I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of another section. I'm afraid of my baby dying inside me. I'm afraid of leaving my three darling girls without a mommy. I'm afraid of damaging my relationship with Jon. I'm afraid of going to bat with a doctor and them walking out on me and leaving me along. I'm afraid of another lying midwife telling me that I can't give birth and I should just be happy I can get the baby in there because she had trouble. (Fuck you, by the way.) Although, that chart I saw the other day does help lots and lots with being afraid of dying or losing my baby. The risk is slim. I'm okay with the slim risk.
It also pissed me straight off. Yes, I'm pissed off I consented to the induction without knowing what I was getting into. I walked into that hospital thinking "Oh, this is just a faster way from A to B. We're going in, going to take some pills and I'll be happily holding my gorgeous baby in 12 hours. NBD." Yeah, either they lied to me or I lied to myself. I didn't know that I was shooting off a rocket with my chance of having a section when I walked off that elevator. I had no freggin clue! I didn't know about ICAN. I didn't even know about CafeMom! I didn't know there were resources on the web that would give me information other than what was in What To Expect When You're Expecting. I didn't know Ina May or the Farm bloody existed! I trusted my doctor (Who was an intern herself.) to do what was right. She knew I was terrified of a section and still she let me lay in that bed and pumped me full of pit. WTF? Why not tell me to run! Why didn't I know myself? I let myself down. I made these mistakes myself. I didn't educate myself enough. I didn't read enough. I didn't dig deep enough. I failed us all because I wasn't educated enough. I fucked us over!
I also feel my power. I lived through this. I lived through the depression. I lived through the effects of this. And ya know what? I'm an amazing mommy! I love my kids out loud. Every day. With EVERYTHING I have. If I can survive and still love and feel compassion and generosity and caring, I can give birth to our baby. I know I can. Especially with all the strong mama lions who are surrounding me now. I got this!
I got this!
The Beginning. The Birth.
First, before anything else can happen, I feel like I need to post my
birth story. Everything that happened. All of my shame. In an open post
for anyone to read. I can't filter who may see it. I'm not sure I want
to. My birth is part of me. To know me, I have to let you see what
happened. How I ended up where I am now.
Be warned, my birth is not full of light and sunshine and love and peace. My birth is one of violence and abuse and much shame. It's not easy for many to read. But the end result was my sweet, sunny girl that's full of love and light and happiness. Even if her entry into this world was hell for me, being her mommy has been heaven. I'm sorry sweet girl. I'm so sorry I couldn't bring you earthside in a gentle and peaceful way. I am so glad to have you.
The Story:
Jon came home from his first deployment 11 days before Chaiilynn's due date. As I was sitting in the bathtub about 8 hours before his plane was to land I started having contractions. They didn't hurt but they were strong. I timed them for a couple hours and they were 7 minutes apart. They got stronger as the day went on and were strong enough for the Key Spouse to pull Jon off the runway as soon as the plane touched down. We went straight to the hospital. They monitored me for a couple of hours and said most likely it was early labor and drink lots and rest. Those contractions went on for 11 more days. 7 minutes apart. Some really strong, some barely noticed. I didn't sleep much in those 11 days. On the day before Chaiilynn's due date I went to the maternal/fetal specialist (I had GD, or so they said) for the ultrasound and he could feel the contractions. He sent me to L&D to be monitored and they said that the baby was fine but they wanted an induction the next day. We went home that night and got ready. By this point I was exhausted. My hips and pelvis hurt so much when I would walk that Jon was having to help me everywhere. Luckily he had 6 weeks of post deployment and baby leave at that point.
At 5 AM we reported to L&D and got checked in. The nurse came in and demanded I sign blanket consent forms. I refused. I said I would consent or not on a case by case basis. She left, got power of attorney forms or something and came back. Threw them at me and slammed the door and left. Jon went to the nurses station told the Charge Nurse that nurse was not to come back in the room or we would need to speak to the police since she had thrown the papers at me. It was a little dramatic, but she didn't come back. They got the pit going around 7am and... nothing. The monitor wasn't working on my belly so I had to lay in one certain position and if I moved, a nurse came in screaming at me to hold still. Around noon, nothing had picked up, still 7 minutes apart with no intensity. My legs, hips and back were hurting so badly by this time I was crying. The nurse decided it was contractions in my legs.
About an hour after that a doctor I had never met walked in to the room. His name was Garcia. He had an amnio hook. I could see it in his hands. I said that I didn't want my water broken and I would not consent to it. He said it didn't matter, I signed consent forms, he was going to break my water anyway (I never signed the consent forms). He walked to the bed, pulled the blanket back and sat on my ankles and calves. He put his elbows between my knees and dug into my legs to force me to spread them. I remember the sound of my own voice but coming from somewhere else screaming "No please do do it. Please don't hurt me. I do not consent. Stop touching me." Over and over again. Jon stood in the corner watching me and when I asked him to help me, to make him stop, he told me to be quiet and let him do his job. That is the worst part of everything that happened. My husband stood over me while a man violated me and told me to just take it. The doctor also put internal monitors in that left a scar on Chaiilynn's head.
I asked for the epidural about an hour later because they wouldn't let me out of bed and I was in so much pain in my hips and legs. When they put the epidural in, they cranked up the pit. An hour later, Chaiilynn was having decels. I heard the head doctor in my practice scream in the hall "I'm going to cut her. I don't care that she didn't sign consent forms. I'm cutting that baby out today. She's killing her baby."
A kind old nurse came into the room then. She looked in my eyes and hugged me. She said, "Just let them do the section to make the hurting stop." Apparently, I consented to her because a few minutes later I was in the OR and on the slap. It was so cold. The same doctor that ruptured my membranes said "Make her stop crying, it's making her belly shake and I can't cut her right. Tell her to stop begin a baby. She's about to be a mother."
I didn't connect with Chaiilynn until she was about 6 months old. I only fed her. Jon did all the other baby care. I hardly held her unless I had to. I was angry. I was angry at my baby because of what "she"caused. Then I realized that my baby is awesome and it got better. The first six months were hell. Jon and I split up. I moved out. I told Jon that I never wanted him for anything except a baby so now I was leaving. It was rough.
Be warned, my birth is not full of light and sunshine and love and peace. My birth is one of violence and abuse and much shame. It's not easy for many to read. But the end result was my sweet, sunny girl that's full of love and light and happiness. Even if her entry into this world was hell for me, being her mommy has been heaven. I'm sorry sweet girl. I'm so sorry I couldn't bring you earthside in a gentle and peaceful way. I am so glad to have you.
The Story:
Jon came home from his first deployment 11 days before Chaiilynn's due date. As I was sitting in the bathtub about 8 hours before his plane was to land I started having contractions. They didn't hurt but they were strong. I timed them for a couple hours and they were 7 minutes apart. They got stronger as the day went on and were strong enough for the Key Spouse to pull Jon off the runway as soon as the plane touched down. We went straight to the hospital. They monitored me for a couple of hours and said most likely it was early labor and drink lots and rest. Those contractions went on for 11 more days. 7 minutes apart. Some really strong, some barely noticed. I didn't sleep much in those 11 days. On the day before Chaiilynn's due date I went to the maternal/fetal specialist (I had GD, or so they said) for the ultrasound and he could feel the contractions. He sent me to L&D to be monitored and they said that the baby was fine but they wanted an induction the next day. We went home that night and got ready. By this point I was exhausted. My hips and pelvis hurt so much when I would walk that Jon was having to help me everywhere. Luckily he had 6 weeks of post deployment and baby leave at that point.
At 5 AM we reported to L&D and got checked in. The nurse came in and demanded I sign blanket consent forms. I refused. I said I would consent or not on a case by case basis. She left, got power of attorney forms or something and came back. Threw them at me and slammed the door and left. Jon went to the nurses station told the Charge Nurse that nurse was not to come back in the room or we would need to speak to the police since she had thrown the papers at me. It was a little dramatic, but she didn't come back. They got the pit going around 7am and... nothing. The monitor wasn't working on my belly so I had to lay in one certain position and if I moved, a nurse came in screaming at me to hold still. Around noon, nothing had picked up, still 7 minutes apart with no intensity. My legs, hips and back were hurting so badly by this time I was crying. The nurse decided it was contractions in my legs.
About an hour after that a doctor I had never met walked in to the room. His name was Garcia. He had an amnio hook. I could see it in his hands. I said that I didn't want my water broken and I would not consent to it. He said it didn't matter, I signed consent forms, he was going to break my water anyway (I never signed the consent forms). He walked to the bed, pulled the blanket back and sat on my ankles and calves. He put his elbows between my knees and dug into my legs to force me to spread them. I remember the sound of my own voice but coming from somewhere else screaming "No please do do it. Please don't hurt me. I do not consent. Stop touching me." Over and over again. Jon stood in the corner watching me and when I asked him to help me, to make him stop, he told me to be quiet and let him do his job. That is the worst part of everything that happened. My husband stood over me while a man violated me and told me to just take it. The doctor also put internal monitors in that left a scar on Chaiilynn's head.
I asked for the epidural about an hour later because they wouldn't let me out of bed and I was in so much pain in my hips and legs. When they put the epidural in, they cranked up the pit. An hour later, Chaiilynn was having decels. I heard the head doctor in my practice scream in the hall "I'm going to cut her. I don't care that she didn't sign consent forms. I'm cutting that baby out today. She's killing her baby."
A kind old nurse came into the room then. She looked in my eyes and hugged me. She said, "Just let them do the section to make the hurting stop." Apparently, I consented to her because a few minutes later I was in the OR and on the slap. It was so cold. The same doctor that ruptured my membranes said "Make her stop crying, it's making her belly shake and I can't cut her right. Tell her to stop begin a baby. She's about to be a mother."
I didn't connect with Chaiilynn until she was about 6 months old. I only fed her. Jon did all the other baby care. I hardly held her unless I had to. I was angry. I was angry at my baby because of what "she"caused. Then I realized that my baby is awesome and it got better. The first six months were hell. Jon and I split up. I moved out. I told Jon that I never wanted him for anything except a baby so now I was leaving. It was rough.
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