Birth Warrior
31-Dec-08
A few days ago, I realized that I never posted my birth story here (or if I did, I can’t find it!). So, I’m sharing it now. It’s been nearly 6 months and I still think about what I could’ve done differently. I’m carrying this experience with me into my next pregnancy, starting with my choice of health practitioner. (If you have your birth story online, feel free to leave a link in the comments so I can read it!)
Alice Ann Cavillones was birthed into the world by cesarean at 9:21 in the morning on Monday, July 7. She weighed in at 6 pounds and 7 ounces, measuring 18 and 3/4 inches long.
Let’s backtrack to the 37th week, two weeks before Alice was born. Henry I went to my weekly check-up together, to have “The Talk” with our doctor. This is the appointment where the doctor tells us when to to call her, when to come into the hospital, and so on. “The Talk” was rendered moot when Alice’s breech presentation was discovered on the ultrasound. That one word, BREECH, completely changed the tone of everything. In the doctor’s office, following the examination, we discussed our options, and an appointment for a cesarean was immediately scheduled, along with an appointment for an external version. The doctor suggested several homeopathic techniques for turning a breech baby, answered our few questions and sent us on our way. We left, a little shocked and surprised. The natural birth we’d been preparing for and envisioning was suddenly and abruptly shut down. After much discussion, we opted not to do the external version. The reported success rate had a range both too wide and too low to suffer such a painful and invasive procedure. So, we pursued homeopathic remedies. We were lucky enough to have Edith and Tany in our neighborhood, and visited them several times for adjustments from Tany. We also tried the breech tilt, an old midwives’ technique that involves laying on the floor with one’s legs and torso at a 30 degree angle, the idea being that such a position would help the baby disengage from the pelvis and turn around. Acupuncture and homeopathic remedies were suggested but at this point, I was feeling too tired and cumbersome to schlep around. We also tried singing songs to Alice involving the idea of turning, like “Turn Turn Turn,” “Spin Me Round,” and the Hokey-Pokey. 
In the meantime, I was running the gamut of emotions, almost as if I were going through the stages of grief–feeling shock, sadness, anger, denial and finally, acceptance. In a way, I did lose something. It was the death of an ideal, a vision and I had to find a way to reclaim that vision, to regain my ownership over Alice’s birth. Taking a page from Birthing From Within, I did some visualization exercises to help me sort through all those emotions. There’s also a theory that babies turn breech to comfort the mother, putting their heads close to mom’s heart, in an attempt to soothe some unspoken anxiety.
I had my last check-up on July 3rd and Alice was still presenting breech. At this point, I was focusing on the positive aspects of the situation, number one being that we would get to meet our baby sooner! I went home to wait out the long July 4th weekend, trying to relax as much as possible. My sister, who’d had a cesarean with her first child for the same reason (as did my other older sister, prompting the doctor to surmise that it was genetic, having to do with the shape of our pelvises), dutifully and patiently answered all my questions. I don’t deal well with unknowns (that’s why I’m an English teacher and not a science teacher!) and so, I tried to clear up as many unknowns as possible.
The morning on the 7th finally arrived (after what felt like the LONGEST weekend of my life). We left the house early to be at the hospital by 6am, to prep for the OR. We were immediately taken into the triage room, after filling out the paperwork. I was poke and prodded by a friendly nurse, while Henry sat by my side, listening to a laboring woman in another room curse out her husband, dropping F-bombs like there was no tomorrow. While waiting for the anesthesiologist, we had a visit from our friend, Maureen, a nurse manager on the hospital’s PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) ward. When my younger sister arrived, we sent Henry off to get himself a badly needed coffee. In the meantime, another ultrasound was done, just to be sure (I hoped against hope here). Henry made it back in time to see my shuffle off to the OR (that was weird– I’d envisioned a gurney ride).
I was poked and prodded again, this time for the spinal, which I’d requested for it’s short life, and contained a 24 hour pain medication (no itching! yay!). As my body went numb, I had the surreal sensation of being out of my body, watching all this activity, aware that things were going on, and also beginning to feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness, as I lay there, naked and vulnerable, waiting for Henry to appear at my side. I suddenly became stricken by the fear that they’d forgotten him out in the hallway and I began asking for him. I was badly trying to hold myself together but as soon as Henry’s face came into view, I was so relieved, the floodgates open and I cried throughout the procedure. Henry was fantastic. I couldn’t talk because of the oxygen mask, and I couldn’t read Henry’s lips because of his mask but we maintained eye contact the whole time, and I could imagine what he was saying underneath that mask. He told me over and over again that he loved me. Before we knew it, he was called to take a picture as Alice was lifted up and out. It is an AMAZING picture and if you’d like to see it, please ask. (It’s a bit graphic so I won’t include it here.) Henry left my side to be with Alice. We had made it clear that we didn’t want her bathed, nor did we want her vernix wiped off. Henry intercepted a nurse just in time, prompting another nurse to declare it “gross,” which made me laugh when I heard the story later. After Alice was bundled up, Henry brought her to me. I nuzzled her face, my arms still encumbered by needles and tubing as I was carefully sewn up again. My doctor was adamant that I be able to have a VBAC, so my stitches were double-layer, at the bikini line (this is standard now, except in the case of an emergency cesarean.)
Henry stayed with Alice while I was wheeled to recovery. We were reunited shortly and I was able to feed Alice in the recovery room with help from my mom and sister. Before I was transferred to my room, Alice was taken to the nursery to be warmed up when her temperature was discovered to be on the low side. Again, Henry stayed with Alice the whole time. She joined me in my room 20 minutes later, quelling my biggest fear–being apart from Alice for an extended period of time. We roomed together for the next four days, with the exception of a night under the bili-lite to treat her mild jaundice. We finally brought Alice home on Thursday, July 10th. We’ve quickly settled into a routine while I recover and learn the fine art of breastfeeding (an emotional and frustrating but ultimately rewarding experience). Henry has proved to be a Master Burper and fussy baby soother. We’ve done skin-to-skin and the belly crawl (AMAZING–TRY IT!), and we’re co-sleeping with Alice. This form of attachment parenting has helped me begin the emotional healing that I need to make up for the sense of detachment I felt as Alice was birthed into the world by the hands of others. Those who say they prefer C-sections, I will never understand but I’ve come to accept my experience, thanks to the tremendous support Henry and I have received from our doula, my mother and my older sister.
I’ve made chicken pot pie twice now and I’ve learned some lessons. It’s time I heeded them.