There was no real drama surrounding my first two caesareans, no recriminations, no disappointment. I didn’t know any other way. The doctors told me with my first that I was simply choosing where I had stitches, as my baby was so huge and I was so small I would certainly have to be sewn up one way or the other. As a naïve twenty four year old I believed that everything they told me was said with my best interests at heart, with the most up to date medical knowledge at its foundation. So my first caesarean happened, it was the easy option, inevitable, no long term ramifications, just a routine operation.
I asked for a vbac with my second without any research or knowledge, I just knew I didn’t want another operation. The midwives and consultants were happy with my decisions (I didn’t appreciate how rare that was until now). So I plodded along, they were very relaxed about my glucose levels, blood pressure, going post-dates. At forty two weeks my daughter became breech, and they booked in the caesarean. Again I presumed that as they had told me there was no possible way I could birth a breech baby then that must be true. As I sat on the bed, gown and dvt stockings on, I felt a movement from my baby which was unlike anything I had ever felt, an almost 43 week baby turning round. They came in and scanned to confirm, told me I didn’t have to have the operation I could go home and still try or my vbac. When I asked what would happen if she turned again, they said “Don’t be silly she won’t turn now”…. My husband had taken time off work, my mum had my older little girl, it just seemed silly at that moment to postpone what would probably be the eventual result anyway and so caesarean number two happened.
Then I got pregnant with my third, I tentatively mentioned the idea of a vbac and was laughed out of the room. A few months later my (brilliant) sister in law lent me a book, I honestly don’t think I understood the saying “scales falling from eyes” until then. I went onto read dozens more books, websites, forums… I couldn’t get enough, I was going to get my vbac no matter what, and this time I knew exactly why. When the NHS told me that I would explode and kill my baby and myself if I insisted on pursuing this foolhardy route I hired an independent midwife. I had the best pregnancy ever, it was so wonderful to be looked after and listened to, I wasn’t ill I was pregnant. Every step felt like it in some way healed the damage caused by the previous two pregnancies, damage that I hadn’t even known had occurred until then.
We hit the forty two week mark and again baby became breech, instead of the world falling apart we made plans to try and turn her (much floor scrubbing!) and planned for a breech birth in case that turned out to be the case. She turned head down again on 3rd January 2011, as I knew she would and I went into labour on 7th, almost three weeks “overdue”. To experience labour for the first time was just too amazing for words, I loved it. Friday evening the contractions started as the two older girls and I played some Wii game, I remember them getting annoyed with me as I lost concentration with each surge. We put them to bed and settled to watch some TV, contracting periodically throughout. Having tried to sleep or a few hours I came down onto the sofa and enjoyed a few hours of it being just the baby and I in labour, I dozed and tried to settle into the process. I woke my husband at about 3am to say I was definitely in labour, presuming we’d try to get some more sleep, but he got up, phoned my Mum, cleared the lounge and started putting up the birthing pool. Whilst we knew it was early days, it felt good to get it all ready.
I spent the next forty odd hours labouring at home. The contractions never really settled into a routine, went from four minutes apart to ten. Water was my new best friend, as long as I was in the bath or the birth pool I was ok. My lovely midwife popped in now and then to check me and then left us to it; it was one of the loveliest weekends my husband and I have spent together. It was just so natural and exciting. As I look back on it I realise that it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t get my natural birth, I think that once I was actually in labour I was sure I would be able to do it. I think that’s why when I was still only a couple of centre metres dilated after forty hours I was shocked. My midwife suggested we try going into hospital to break my waters and see if that helped, for the first time my brain flagged that this might end in another operation, my thoughts started to spiral down the chain of events that would follow, the pain, the post natal depression, the hospital…..
The hospital staff were nice enough, but it wasn’t my home, there was no more water here, just monitors and needles and lights and people. They broke my waters, the contractions built and again I began to believe I could do it. I settled onto a birth ball and breathed through my contractions as they came. After the allotted two hours they examined me again and I was only 6cm dilated, so a caesarean was decided upon. The tears came then, the fear, the disappointment, and the anger. I must say at the time I definitely felt that the operation was the best and only choice; I felt that I had given it my all and was grateful for my labour. But my pregnancy and labour had been a wonderful safe little bubble and it had now been popped with a surgeon’s scalpel.
The operation itself was fairly uneventful, this bit I’d done before I knew what to expect. The ward was too busy, I didn’t get the help I needed and discharged myself against advice as soon as possible. However, thanks to those wonderful hormones I had a bond with this baby that I had never experienced before; to have her out of my sight caused me pain. I was so in love, the breast feeding was fine and I just wanted to sit and stare at her all day. I had post natal depression with both my previous babies, to be honest I had just presumed I wasn’t that good a Mum, I used to jokingly say “I’m not very good at the baby bit.” We bonded in the end and are very close now, but those first few months of Prozac induced haze were not fun, they were something to be endured. To have this bond this time is such a gift.
I now have regrets, about almost every detail of my first two births. I even have regrets about my third, should I have waited longer to tell anybody I was in labour? Should I have given it longer, should I have seen a chiropractor? Should I have refused the constant monitoring and the cannula? I realise I’m not such a bad mother after all. Whilst I love what I have achieved with this last pregnancy I yearn for the day when I won’t spend every spare moment going over the details and wondering what if…..
