My second birth

I first shared this birth story on my Instagram over a year ago. I decided to remove it and post it here instead. I wish I could have brought the comments with me to this blog post, but I could not. Thank you for reading it! I have also edited the post a bit since then.

My second birth did not turn out at all as I expected. My first birth was an induced vaginal birth and a very positive birth experience (read the birth story here). So during my second pregnancy I never stopped to think that c-section was an option. This was before I had worked in postnatal care and before I was a Midwife. I was however a Doula and a Nurse, and fully trusted my body’s capacity to birth my baby. 

My membranes released a Tuesday afternoon, one week past the estimated due date. It was one of those clear as day experiences, I felt a snap inside my belly, then a small gush of fluid in my underwear. Then every time the baby moved more fluid gushed out. So I waited. Waited for surges that didn’t come. The whole day passed by and nothing. We went to bed and I started feeling some surges during the early morning hours. I got in the shower and used the warm water as relief. I asked the baby’s father to call our Doula Xana. After a while I got out of the shower and felt weird. When Xana arrived I was in bed under two blankets eating an ice pop. She asked if I had taken my temperature. I had not. Turned out I had a fever. I took Paracetamol and all the surges were gone. Xana looked up the hospital recommendations that said 18 hours after membrane release IV antibiotics should be given, especially when having a fever. Reluctantly I called the hospital. The Midwife I spoke to questioned if I was sure it was amniotic fluid and why hadn’t I called sooner. I had felt no need, I felt safe at home, baby was moving, honestly the thought to call the hospital hadn’t crossed my mind. 

We took our time and drove to the hospital. I think we got there around 10 or just before 11. I got an IV, IV antibiotics and more Paracetamol. They hooked me up to the CTG. When the Midwife suggested she wanted to do a vaginal exam I said I wanted to wait until the afternoon staff arrived.

Mostly because I didn't like that Midwife, she wasn't very friendly and seemed tired or unengaged. I also knew from working in the delivery ward as an assistant nurse that sometimes the Midwives want to do their own vaginal exams so I didn't see a reason for me getting one by the morning staff when her shift was about to end anyway and the new staff were the ones who would be caring for me.

The afternoon staff came. I remember her as kind, she sat down and went through my birth preferences with me. Then she asked if I was okay with her doing a vaginal exam, which I was. She then told me my cervix wasn’t dilated and baby’s head wasn’t engaged. This surprised me as my Midwife at my prenatal visits assured me that the head was engaged. She said she needed to go and speak to the doctor. 

A few minutes later an assistant nurse came in and said “When did you last eat?” And told me not to eat or drink. When I asked her why she said the doctor was coming to speak to me. That’s when I knew. Not eating or drinking means one thing: surgery. I started crying. To this day I hate how I found out that I was about to have a c-section. That assistant nurse didn’t have to do what she did. Minutes later the doctor came who was really nice and caring, I wish she would have given me the news in a straightforward way. Now I was an emotional wreck trying to process things and prepare for the first surgery of my life. She explained to me that my son’s heart rate was elevated and since my cervix wasn’t dilated at all they didn’t think he could handle an induction. I told my then boyfriend he had to put our baby skin to skin right away (I had worked in neonatal care previously and knew all the benefits), I took baby’s blanket and hugged it, as well as put my shirt in the bassinet where they would place baby so he would know my scent. Xana was a lifesaver! She asked the doctor all the questions I couldn’t in that moment. She also was there to help my boyfriend, as it was his first child and he was quite nervous. She took a lot of pictures and video of them during the time we were a part. That was priceless. I am forever grateful!

Holding the baby blanket close to my body to make sure it has my scent.

I don’t remember what Xana said to us during this time, but she made us laugh which was priceless in this moment.

I don't generally cry in front of people I don't know, but when we got into the operating room I cried. The staff tried to comfort me saying everything would be okay. I told them "I know! I just don't want to be separated from my baby." The surgery didn't scare me in that moment, but knowing I would spend the first hours of my son's life away from him broke me.

I was given spinal anaesthesia. I had been presented at many c-sections at the time and was familiar with the procedure. The feeling of laying there on an operating table was so dehumanizing. I felt like people were busy all around me but no one really saw me. Laying flat on your back, trying to see the people around you is hard. The anaesthetic nurse was my savior though. A white woman in her 60’s who seemed confident at her job. She talked to me, looked at me in a way that made me feel seen and safe. At one point I had intense pressure in my chest and I told her "I don't know if l'm having a panic attack or just can't breathe." She calmed me and gave me oxygen, saying it was the anaesthetic. She talked to me off and on which was comforting.

One of the worst parts of the surgery was when after the initial cut the doctors pull the surgical wound open. My whole body was shaking and it felt like I would fall off the operating table. There was pressure, no pain. I tried to not think about what I knew was going on as I squeezed my boyfriend's hand. He held on to me to keep me from shaking, but my whole body still moved.

After what felt like an eternity I heard my son’s first cry and I felt so much joy and emotional pain at the same time. I cried and I cried. My boyfriend had stood up saying “That’s my son!” Looking at our baby over the surgical cloth that was supposed to keep him from seeing anything. The staff tried to get him to sit down, he refused. He later said “I saw everything!” He’s luckily not sensitive to blood and bodily fluids so to him it wasn’t a traumatic experience at all only exciting. 

Once the cord was cut they rushed my son into another room and took his dad with them. Those were the longest minutes of my life. I kept on asking the anaesthetic nurse why they didn’t bring my baby. “The baby is fine, can’t you hear?” “Yes, but why are they not bringing him to me?” I kept on hearing my baby crying but I still hadn’t seen him. All I wanted was to see him. We had shared one body for such a long time and now all of a sudden he was so far away from me. 

A neonatal nurse appeared on my side questioning my choice to not give my son a vitamin K injection. I had told my boyfriend if they questioned him they should talk to me about it. After going back and forth with this nurse, her trying to school me on vitamin K while I was laying with my belly cut open on a surgical table. I finally said “I am a nurse, I know what I have chosen.” And turned my head away. She said “The doctor may want to speak to you.” And left. I still hadn’t seen my son.

When I finally saw my son for the first time he was wrapped in towels and had a hat on. All I saw was a round face, and he had one eye open blinking in the bright lights. They put him close to my face so I could kiss him, it was hard to look at him, he was too close. There was no skin to skin, only a few short minutes of me trying to get to know the face of the person that had been kicking me in the ribs for the past months. Xana had told me before going up to surgery to take mental pictures of the baby and focus on those during our time apart. I think that's why I still, more than 10 years later, remember exactly what he looked like when I first saw him. Then the Midwife said "We have to go, it's too cold for him here." And they left. Once again I was alone. I heard staff talking, instruments making noise. The doctor said, to whom I don't know, "Not very much amniotic fluid, it smells infectious." I'll never forget that. It was like they didn't realize I could hear, no one explained it to me or talked to me about it.

When the surgery was over I looked over to my left and by the wall there were a few people sitting. "How long will I have to be in post op?" I asked

"Maybe five hours." Someone replied.

Five hours! Five hours away from my baby! It sounded like an eternity. When I got to post op I asked the same thing and got a better answer: "As soon as you can move your legs I'll call for transport." I don't know how long I was in post op, maybe 1,5-2 hours. All of it spent trying to move my legs. As soon as I could move them I called the Nurse. She called so I could get picked up right away.

When I got to the postnatal ward I got rolled into the room and there was my boyfriend, no baby. "Where is the baby?" He responded that they took him. I didn't know what was going on, and instantly got worried. Shortly thereafter two people came with him in the plastic bassinet. "Give me my baby." I said eyes fixed on him. They kept on talking. "Give me my baby." I repeated once or twice more. They gave me my child, fully clothes in clothes I had packed, but I couldn't see what he looked like. I placed him on my chest. Listened to the staff talk saying they had read my birth preferences and would give us some time alone. When they had left the room I took off his clothes. I saw the birth marks he had on his chest, I saw his chunky little body. I took off his hat and looked at all his little curls. I placed him skin to skin on my chest, finally.

The first picture of me and my son.