As soon as I found out I was pregnant with my second son, I knew I wanted a VBAC. Unfortunately, things didn’t pan out that way. My first mistake was that I stayed with my OB/GYN group instead of switching to midwives. I wasn’t even aware that midwives existed until I joined my mom’s group – and at that point, I was more than halfway through my second pregnancy. Being that I am a person who is very resistant to change, I was reluctant to switch practices in the middle of a pregnancy. Moreover, given my history of complications with my first birth, I was hesitant to birth with a midwife for fear that an emergency would arise and the midwife wouldn’t know what to do. In retrospect, I realize this is ridiculous because midwives have obstetricians backing them up, but unfortunately we can’t change the past.
After doing my research and talking to other VBAC moms and my doula friend, I knew that having the least amount of interventions would give me the best chance for a successful VBAC. Given this information and considering my first induction went horribly awry, I absolutely REFUSED to be induced the second time around. However, I was also fearful of having another big baby if I went too far past my due date, given that my first son was 9lbs, 21.5” long, and had a huge head at birth. My biggest fear of all was that I would have a trial of labor and have a repeat of my first birth…labor for countless hours, ultimately have a c-section, and have many complications again, including the worst of all – hemorrhaging. So after many lengthy discussions with my husband and my OB, we came up with a plan that seemed “logical.” We decided to schedule a c-section around 40 ½ weeks (it ended up being 40 weeks and 4 days, to be exact) and if I went into labor before then, great. If not, we would proceed with the scheduled c-section. I wanted to give myself some time beyond my due date to allow my body to go into labor on its own, but at the same time I did not want to go too far past my due for fear that the baby would grow too large and I would, once again, be unable to deliver him.
The pregnancy went pretty smoothly, but as my due date drew nearer and nearer and I started to have weekly internal exams, I started to get very nervous. Week after week, my cervix was 0cm dilated, 0% effaced, and the baby was so high up that they could barely feel his head. The chances of going into labor on my own seemed slim. My primary OB, Dr. A, kept encouraging me and saying that it would happen, that I would go into labor on my own. She also said that if I wanted to wait longer, we could move the c-section date further back. And I discussed this with my husband at length and I cried about it and I worried about it and agonized over the decision. But ultimately, I was paralyzed by the fear of the unknown. At this point, I was over 40 weeks pregnant. What if I did go into labor on my own…would the baby be too big again since I was overdue? Would the birth be horrible and traumatic like my first birth? Would I labor for hours on end only for it to end up in a c-section once again? And what if I never went into labor on my own (because, after all, I went to 41 weeks 6 days with my first pregnancy and never felt a single contraction until I was put on a pitocin drip)…then I would just sit around being miserable for 2 more weeks and wind up with a scheduled c-section anyway. Plus, there were absolutely NO signs of me going into labor anytime in the near future. So we decided to stick with the scheduled c-section at 40 weeks 4 days.
I asked to schedule an appointment for the day before my c-section to have my cervix checked, because if my cervix had dilated, I might have changed my mind. Unfortunately, Dr. A was not available and I had to see Dr. B. The appointment went horribly. She was very condescending. As soon as she walked in the room and saw me, she asked why I was there. Didn’t I have a c-section scheduled? Yes, but I wanted my cervix checked. And then she said something that hurt me very deeply…”Why?,” she asked. “Just incase you’re dilated to 5cm?” And then she snickered. Thanks for the support, doc! Argh. Lo and behold, she got the satisfaction of confirming that she was right and I was, indeed, still 0cm dilated, 0% effaced, and the baby was so high up that she could barely feel his head. I cried the whole way home and even had to stop in a parking lot for half an hour so that my mom wouldn’t know I was crying when I picked up my oldest son.
I spent most of that night crying on my husband’s shoulder and still secretly hoping that I would magically go into labor that night. But alas, it never happened. The next morning, my parents came to take my oldest son and I held back tears as I kissed him goodbye. He was only 21 months old at the time, but he knew something was wrong. My husband and I drove to the hospital and arrived at about 10am. We stayed in the waiting room until about 11am, then they took me back to triage, asked me questions, and started to prep me for surgery. The anesthesiologist came in and considering that I felt every minute of my first c-section, we had a lengthy discussion with him. He was wonderful and took all the time in the world to explain to me, in his thick southern accent, the difference between a spinal and an epidural and reassured me that I shouldn’t feel anything but pressure this time (he speculated that the first time, the epidural had been in place too long and began to lose its effectiveness). When he left, it all happened so fast. The nurse shaved me, another nurse asked me some questions, and then suddenly, another nurse walked in the room and said, “They’re ready.” It was then that I took the walk down the long, white hallway to the cold and sterile OR.
I sat on a long, skinny operating table as nurses bustled around getting things ready. I was still alone at this point and my heart was racing, my hands were clammy…I was nervous. When Dr. A came in, tears began to stream down my face and she held my hand while the anesthesiologist gave me a spinal. Once it took effect, they laid me down on the table and I kept asking for my husband. Before long he was by my side, all dressed up in his white scrubs and cap. They started the surgery and I could hear every word the doctors were saying, so I asked my husband to just keep talking to drown out their voices. I was amazed that I didn’t feel any pain at all this time, just pressure like the anesthesiologist had promised. But as they were pushing on my abdomen to get the baby out, I started to feel dizzy and light headed and I was having a hard time breathing. The anesthesiologist kept reassuring me that all my stats were fine, but I couldn’t get rid of this terrible tightness in my chest – in hindsight, it was probably an anxiety attack from having to re-live my first traumatic c-section.
It wasn’t long before Dr. A delivered the baby and I could hear her say, “I think this one’s even bigger than your first, Lauren.!” And then the most amazing thing happened. She lifted him up over the curtain and I got to see my baby all messy and bloody and beautiful – something I never got to experience with my first son. That was the most wonderful sight, a precious treasured image that I will never ever forget. I started sobbing and just kept repeating, “That’s my baby. That’s my baby.” He was having a hard time breathing, so the nurses took him over to the table and suctioned him and that is when I first got to hear his precious little cry – and this time, I was actually able to cry tears of joy! Then they cleaned him, weighed him (a whopping 9lbs 5oz…indeed, even bigger than my first!), swaddled him, and brought him over to my husband. Although I wasn’t able to hold him (my arms felt too weak from the anesthesia), I did get to see his face and kiss him and touch him and have my picture taken with him and, to me, that was the best thing in the whole world (because, again, these were things I never got to experience with my first son). While I got to spend time bonding with my newborn, Dr. A sewed me up (and I didn’t feel a thing!). Then they wheeled me to my recovery room where I was actually able to breastfeed him! I kept telling my husband it was so much easier and more natural this time than it was with our first. In that moment, I was so happy.
Unfortunately, soon after breastfeeding my son, I started to experience intense neck and shoulder pain that left me screaming in agony. To this day, no one can explain what caused it, but fortunately Toradol took the edge off and over the course of the next week, the pain eventually subsided entirely. Other than that, my recovery with Collin was thankfully uncomplicated. We spent 3 days in the hospital and actually enjoyed the company of visitors (as opposed to my first birth where I was on a morphine drip and couldn’t keep my eyes open). Comparatively speaking, my recovery this time was much easier. Sadly, I was once again unable to exclusively breastfeed my son. After speaking with several doctors and lactation consultants, I discovered that my breasts are tubular and I lack sufficient glandular tissue to produce enough milk for any baby, let alone a 9 pound one. So, I can’t birth a baby, I can’t breastfeed a baby – talk about feeling like a failure! But despite this news, I did go on to breastfeed Collin until he was 6 months old, even though at least 95% of his nutrition came from formula. And even though I didn’t get the VBAC that I so desperately wanted, Collin’s birth was still a much more positive experience than my first delivery and for now, that’s all I can ask for.
