So, this is a way for me to self therapize.
First Photo Together
I will start this blog by telling my daughters birth story. SHE is not the reason for needing therapy, but the doctors who did not have me as the main interest at the end of my pregnancy, but themselves. This blog is my way of moving on from the pain in my past and looking forward to a new and exciting chapter in my birthing life.
I am a type 2 diabetic and with that comes a lot of medical whatnot when you try to have a baby. Basically it means as long as your blood glucose level is good the whole time, and the million tests, (8 u/s, NSTs, 2 fetal echos…etc) your best option is an induction at 39 weeks at the very latest. My tests were all fine, everything that can potentially go wrong with blood sugar issues was not even slightly present. That said, my Doctor still wanted to induce me early. 37weeks 5days to be exact.
Trevor (DH) and I were very excited, but pretty nervous about the whole thing. At my last OB visit the Dr. said I was 1 cm dilated and three days before my scheduled induction I lost the mucus plug. I was really hoping for labor to start on its own…. oh well.
We got to the hospital at 7 am February 17th. This day was supposed to be my daughters birthday! After all of the paperwork, and nonsense that goes into having a baby, it was 10:00 am. They managed to get an IV going, after three tries, I think. Started me on Pitocin right away. I can’t remember all the details from the next 26 hours that I was in labor. I know my water was broken at 3cm dilated and it was the strangest feeling! A huge rush of fluid… After which the contractions were immense. I recall the pain getting to be really intense so I asked for pain relief. I have no clue what they gave me, but it made me pass out in minutes.
I slept fitfully through the night. I was not allowed anything to eat or drink, nor was I allowed to get up and move around… I was in a bed with contractions for 26 hours. At about 4am I asked for the epidural. After that I got some real sleep. My mother never left my side. My poor husband was trying so hard to be there for me, but he just annoyed me so badly. I feel really awful about that now, but at the time it seemed really reasonable. My contractions were not getting me anywhere… the nurses all seemed annoyed, the Dr I wanted to deliver me was off shift, so she left. The next person on shift I did not want to deal with whatsoever… he was a terrible man.
The Midwife who was with the practice I saw most of the day, and she gave me one vaginal exam after another. I was exhausted, in pain, (even with the epidural) hungry, thirsty, and so disappointed. It was noon and I hadn’t dilated more then 4cm. It was decided that I wasn’t going to progress anymore and that I needed a C-section. They told me the baby’s heart-rate wasn’t good. (probably not the case, but a good way to persuade mama) They told me that I couldn’t do it. That a C-section was my only choice. To this day, (only about a year later) I can’t think about that day in the hospital without bawling my eyes out. I was heart-broken. My body didn’t work. I had failed.
They got the OR ready, and Trevor got into the hospital required uniform. I was scared to death and they didn’t allow him in the OR for at least half an hour. It was an hour and a half after they made the decision to section me that my little Fiona Lucille was born. (If her heart-rate was such a concern, why such a long time?) All I remember was Trevor saying “here she comes”. I heard her cry, which made me cry. At least I have a healthy baby right? I felt empty. I felt like I had failed as a mom… doomed to fail as a mom from then on… if I can’t give birth what makes me so sure I can handle raising a baby?
I wasn’t allowed to touch her or hold her until I was out of the recovery room. Nearly two hours. I was only able to see the photos that Trevor had taken. Everyone had seen her and even held her before me. I didn’t even get a chance to nurse her until much much later. Fiona was amazing, beautiful, and perfect. I was in love right away. But that did not change how I felt inside.
I spent the next two weeks crying constantly, I barely left my room. I wouldn’t let anyone but my mom or Trevor hold her. I couldn’t shake how I felt. I was so emotional… It took forever for me to heal outwardly, but I think I’m just starting to heal inwardly.
The date is February 11th. Today is the fifth anniversary of my fathers’ death, and the third anniversary of my first date with Trevor. There is a lot on my heart today. However, most important for me is the healing that has started. I have faith the healing will be complete the day I give birth to the son I am pregnant with now the way that God intended for women to give birth.