Every birth story is different, and there are very few that go according to plan. For some reason, I hadn’t been able to write about mine with Little Man, because it was really emotional. But he’s turning one this week, and I felt it’s time to share how he came into the world.
My birth story: the plan
My husband and I were over-the-moon excited the day I found out I was pregnant, because we struggled with infertility. It turns out, I am living with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome), and we were even told at one point that I would most like be unable to conceive naturally.
But against all odds, we were finally able to conceive (naturally!), and I had a fairly normal pregnancy. My doctors watched me carefully; I had high blood pressure in the past, so preeclampsia and gestational diabetes were concerns. But I never developed either, so we entered my third trimester optimistic about our baby’s birth.
We felt prepared
We took several great birthing classes at our hospital, and they did an amazing job educating us on all the birth options. I felt very informed and empowered to choose what we thought best for our baby.
We didn’t really create a hard and fast birth plan, but we had a general idea of how we wanted things to go. I wanted to labor at home as long as possible, and only go to the hospital when the contractions were the appropriate time apart. I also wanted to give birth naturally, without medication, if possible. We weren’t completely inflexible on this, because we knew to expect the unexpected.
However, I really wanted to try my hardest to deliver naturally because I wanted to experience every part of my baby’s birth. And since nothing indicated otherwise, we expected a natural birth story.
My birth story: the reality
Little Man’s birth story began on December 9. It was a Saturday, so my husband and I were both off work, and we ran some errands and did some shopping. In the evening, we went to our niece’s birthday party, and had a great time visiting with our family.
It was late when we got home (around 10 pm or so), but I had a mission. Our Christmas tree had sat undecorated in the corner for over a week, and I convinced my husband we had to decorate it that night. He tried to talk me out of it, saying it was late and we could do it the next day, but I insisted. I could not stand looking at an undecorated tree one more day.
So my ever-patient husband pulled out the decorations and we enjoyed a quiet evening listening to Christmas music and beautifying our tree. Sometime during this process, I started having contractions, but they weren’t too bad or close together. We decided to go to bed and see if I could sleep.
Well, sleep never happened, because those contractions picked up fast! We laid in bed, timing them, and trying to decide if we should head to the hospital. At my last check-up, just a couple days prior, the doctor said I was dilated 2-3 centimeters. So we knew things could potentially progress quickly.
But I determined to labor at home as long as possible, so we continued timing the contractions, unable to fall asleep. The decision to go to the hospital was made for us, however, when I got out of bed to use the bathroom and my water broke.
It was go-time!
Disappointingly, my water breaking meant we had to go to the hospital and couldn’t labor longer in the comfort of our home. But we were under strict instructions to go to the hospital immediately, so off we went, at one in the morning.
My parents met us at the hospital, and twelve long, exhausting hours of labor followed. I dozed a little at the beginning, but as the hours dragged on, I wondered how much longer I could do this.
Towards the end of those twelve hours, the contractions were so painful, I was unable to walk around or use the labor tub (a labor tool I had looked forward to utilizing). After a series of extremely hard contractions, I finally told my husband I thought I needed the epidural.
And I cried.
I cried because I thought I let him and our baby down by not being able to do it without the meds. I cried because I felt like a failure. And I cried because I felt exhausted.
My sweet husband leaned over the side of the hospital bed and held me tight. He told me I was in no way failing our child. He said he was so proud of me for making it that long without any real sleep through that much pain. And he told me to do the epidural.
And I felt so much better afterwards! You guys, I was able to sit up in bed, have a conversation with my hubby and mom without pausing to double over in pain, and sleep (if only for a couple moments). And I was able to think clearly and come to peace with the epidural. I wouldn’t have had the energy to push after that long without it. I tried as hard as I could to do it without medicine, but I’m ultimately very glad I did it.
Because after a few more hours, something scary happened.
The doctor started me on Pitocin because even after that long labor, I still wasn’t progressing as much as he would have liked. I was only at five stinking centimeters!
The doctor and nurse seemed to come in more and more frequently to monitor my and the baby’s vitals. And after a while, he told my husband and me that he was concerned. Our baby’s heart rate was dropping dangerously with every contraction, while mine was elevating.
I labored fourteen hours in total before the doctor delivered those fateful words: “We are going to do a C-section.”
My baby was in distress. They had to get him out. After the doctor delivered this news, my husband and I were alone in the room. I cried again. This was absolutely not how I wanted my birth story to go. Once again, I felt like I let my baby and my husband down because I couldn’t deliver “naturally.”
My husband, bless his heart, again reassured me that I didn’t let anyone down. He encouraged me to understand that it was for both our baby’s and my safety.
C-section
The nurse came back and wheeled me into the operating room. For the first time, my husband wasn’t by my side holding my hand (he couldn’t be in the room while they prepped me for surgery). The room was bright and cold, and even though I knew what was going on, I was scared. I was scared for my baby. And I was scared for myself because I had never had major surgery before.
As I lay on the operating table, my face covered with an oxygen mask, tears rolled down my cheeks. Finally, they allowed my husband to come in, and he stood by my head, wiping the tears from my face. He held my hand as the doctor began the surgery.
Obviously, I couldn’t feel anything, but I did experience a lot of movement as they cut me open and removed my baby. We chose not to find out the gender beforehand, so my husband announced that our little one was a beautiful baby boy. So many happy tears.
Because they had to make sure he was okay, I didn’t immediately get to have skin-to-skin contact with him. I laid on the table as the doctor stitched me up and strained to see my new baby as they worked on him several feet away. And then I got to hold my gorgeous baby for the first time.
My birth story: the result
Even though my birth story didn’t happen even remotely like I had imagined, the end result was the same. I have beautiful baby boy, and he is the light of my life. Watching him grow this past year has made me realize how special my birth story is.
All those emotions and feelings of inadequacy because I didn’t have the birth story I wanted are gone. Because I know now that a C-section birth is just as hard, beautiful, scary, and amazing as a natural one.
So mama, don’t beat yourself up if your baby’s birth story is different than you imagined. Births are messy, painful, and sometimes even scary. You have to be flexible and willing to do what’s necessary to keep your baby and yourself safe. You may feel disappointed that it didn’t turn out like you planned, but the most important thing is that your little one arrives safely.
Was your birth story like you imagined? Tell us about it in the comments!
