Facing My Birth Trauma Head On | C-Section Birth Trauma

Hi Mama, 

Today was heavy, today was HARD. I am nearly 15 months postpartum but I am STRUGGLING.

If you read my birth story post then you know that I had a c-section with my daughter because she was breech. Having planned for an unmedicated vaginal delivery and suddenly finding out the a c-section was the only way I would be able to safely birth my baby was something that I struggled with.

I was scared. I felt like I didn’t have a choice but I knew that it would be what was best for my baby so I accepted my fate.

There was one thing that helped me to be brave going in to my c-section, and that was the thought of finally being able to hold my daughter after she was born.

When I attended my birthing class at the hospital, they told us that they provide family friendly c-sections. That meant that even though I would be having a surgical birth I would still be allowed to do skin-to-skin and breastfeeding directly after my baby was born if there were no complications in her birth.

So what happened?

I was brave during labor, which I went through for 6 hours before I was able to go in the c-section. With each contraction, I focused on my baby girl. I felt good because I knew that soon I would have her in my arms.

Despite having contractions that were nearly on top of each other when it came time for my c-section, I walked to the operating room rather than getting wheeled in on a chair.

I wanted to be confident, strong and empowered going into my birth even though I was very afraid.

I was brave for the epidural, which was something I feared so much. I curled up like a shrimp and hugged the pillow and I said, “I love you baby girl. I will see you so soon”.

I clung on to that thought, anticipating the moment when we would meet. It wouldn’t be much longer.

I was brave when the surgery began. With my husband by my side, I focused on staying calm and my breathing. I just wanted the best outcome.

I could feel the doctor tugging at my abdomen. Before I could even prepare myself, I heard my baby cry. I was so surprised I thought surly it must be someone else’s baby. How could she be here so fast? But it was her! She was born!

My husband went to cut the cord out of view. I was laying there eager to see my baby. I was calling out for her. I was trying to comfort her with my voice even though she couldn’t see me. I’m here baby girl. I love you. Mama’s here.

Thirteen minutes.

And then I saw her. To my surprise she was already wrapped up in a swaddle with a cute hat. I was so overwhelmed with joy as we took our first family photo. I couldn’t wait to touch her, to hold her, to nurse her. I wanted to feel her on me.

But before I could register what was going on, my husband and baby girl were escorted out of the OR. I was left, alone.

Scared once again.

Confused.

I felt blank.

Empty.

What happened?

Where was my daughter who I had waited so long to meet?

Why wasn’t she with me?

I could hear the doctors chattering as they worked to stitch up my stomach.

“Pass me the scissors.”

“Cut the muscle here.”

And then to me

“What’s her name?”

“Amelia”

“Like Amelia Earhart”

“Yes, like that.”

My Amelia Rose, where was she?

Why was I alone?

These were my thoughts that I didn’t dare ask.

I was paralyzed with fear and confusion.

I was shaking uncontrollably.

I felt so cold.

Why did it have to be like this?

How many more minutes will this take?

Where is my baby?

Finally the surgery was over and I was moved to a stretcher and taken to recovery. When I arrived, I could see my husband and my baby girl. She was in a bassinet with a light shining on her like she was on display.

And I was nauseous.

“I don’t feel well.”

“We will give you anti-nausea medicine.”

It didn’t work.

I couldn’t even move my head to look at my daughter because I was so dizzy.

So I cried.

I was vomiting and I felt the biggest ache in my heart.

“I want to hold her.”

I looked up at the clock. She had been born over an hour ago and I hadn’t held her yet.

And I kept throwing up, wishing it would stop.

I just wanted my baby.

My baby.

That’s my baby over there.

I am her mother.

I should be with her.

Why?

About 2 hours after she was born is when I finally held her. It’s a blur. I can’t even really remember it because as soon as I held her I needed to give her back. I was so sick. The medicine didn’t help at all.

I cried.

This isn’t fair.

I want my baby.

No, I need my baby.

Why?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

How did it turn out like this?

Then we were transferred to our room. On the way there I had to ask them to please stop moving. I continued to vomit. I was so weak at this point.

In the room, it was time to breastfeed. It was 5am. I had been awake almost 24 hours. I had been through a long day of being pregnant, the thrill of my water breaking, 6 hours of contractions, a major abdominal surgery, and 2 hours of vomiting.

I wanted to be here for this moment. I want to feel the magic. The bond of feeding my baby for the first time.

But the room was spinning.

I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even really see.

It’s like I was awake but asleep at the same time.

And then I blacked out.

Two hours later I woke up, still exhausted. My husband was sitting with our daughter on the couch. I don’t even remember when I held her next.

Everything is such a blur.

But later I had her in my arms. Finally. I’m not sure what time it was. But I finally had her and I didn’t want to let go.

I felt so many emotions. Joy, gratitude, and LOVE.

That’s my baby girl.

I will love her until the end of time.

There aren’t enough minutes in a day to be with her.

I can’t get enough of the best thing in my life.

She is my everything.

My beating heart outside my chest.

I was meant to be her mama.

I am a mama.

Mama.

______

So why was today so hard?

Many days are hard, because that moment has stuck with me. I hate that I can’t remember the moments after my birth. I can only remember the fear, the emptiness, and confusion and the sadness I had laying on the operating table without my baby.

That was supposed to be my moment.

I worked so hard to take care of myself during pregnancy so my baby could develop and grow.

I did everything right.

I was healthy.

She was healthy.

But she was a rebel, making her own choices already, showing her character before she was even here with us.

Independent.

Stubborn.

A mind of her own.

And I love her for that.

I accepted that we would do things her way. But I knew that even though I was scared, I would get my moment. That blissful “golden hour”.

The crucial bonding moment.

My first birth, my first baby, my first moments of this wild ride called motherhood.

I can’t get it back.

This is a pain that I will carry with me until the end of time.

So today I decided it was time to get closure.

I went to my annual appointment to get a PAP smear, but I came with questions. I needed answers. It was time to finally ask my doctor:

Why didn’t I get my moment?

I was shaking as I waited for my turn. I repeated to myself over and over again: I have a right to ask this question. I am allowed to ask this question. I deserve an answer to this question. I deserve to know why.

I had many questions.

How does my scar look?

Am I a good candidate for a VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section)?

Do I need to do anything special before getting pregnant again?

Do I need to wait longer?

Am I healed?

And finally.

Why?

Why didn’t I get to hold my baby when she was born?

His answer…

“They are trying very hard. Usually you’re supposed to hold her. And I’ve been standing there telling them ‘this is not right’ and they go ‘yeah we know’. It requires a lot of cooperation by everyone who is around to do that and they’re trying to send extra nurses but it doesn’t always happen, and so you don’t end up breastfeeding at the same time. It’s supposed to be happening with every c-section regardless… if you end up with a c-section again, you can be proactive ahead of time and just say ‘hey this was a problem last time, we need to work on this'”…

“Yeah and I mean as a mom giving birth for the first time I didn’t think I should have to ask.”

“You shouldn’t have to ask. You don’t have to ask.”

“And then she was just gone and I was like well this is sad…”

“Right. But did they take her to the NICU?”

“No, they didn’t. They just had my husband and her leave and then I was just there for 30-40 minutes getting stitched up by myself.”

“Yeah, that’s not right. I’m sorry that happened.”

Then I started crying. I tried so hard not to cry because it’s hard for me to talk once I start crying. But the tears just came. I couldn’t stop them.

Every time I relive these moments, my heart feels that empty feeling again.

It’s as if my heart is searching for the memory that I don’t have.

I desperately wanted that moment. I needed it. It was supposed to be mine.

My doctor was very kind and empathic. He said he wishes that there was something he could do about it but when they are doing a surgery they have to focus on the procedure and they rely on the hospital staff to take care of mom and baby after birth.

He gave me tissues. He patted me on the leg. He looked sad for me. I could see it in his eyes.

He knows that was happened wasn’t right. He knows the magnitude of pain that comes from losing that moment.

He reassured me that we will make the next time better.

We will advocate next time.

I will have my moment.

I continued to cry. I was sad remembering the moments, but also feeling validated that he was acknowledging that this is something that should not have happened.

He was giving me something that even my husband didn’t give me.

He understood why this was a big deal for me.

My husband did not.

My husband believes that a healthy mom and healthy baby = a successful birth.

Maybe, but it’s so much more than that.

And that’s something that he couldn’t understand.

That moment.

That precious moment.

The moment I dreamed of and longed for.

That was my right.

That was the gift of my motherhood.

It was for me.

I needed that.

My doctor said something that really hit home. He said, “you’re experiencing a form of PTSD from this experience.”

All this time I didn’t know how to categorize how I was feeling.

I couldn’t justify why my healthy delivery was bringing me so much sadness.

And there it was.

A term I could attach to what I was feeling.

Not something I was happy to be experiencing, but it finally made sense.

With that statement, getting the answer to my question, and getting validated that my feelings are not an overreaction, and that this should have never happened, I felt like I might have finally hit a turning point.

I was still sobbing in the car, tears falling on to my steeling wheel.

And of course, it was pouring rain when I came out from the appointment. How cliche….

I allowed myself to have to moment to cry, to process what I had just learned, and to think about what I would do next.

I’m getting help, and I’m going to write a letter to the hospital to share my feelings.

Or maybe I will share this post with them.

I want them to know that what happened was not okay.

I’m not okay.

I maybe never be “okay”.

But I hope I can begin to accept that this is what happened.

I will seek counseling. I have a few phone numbers and hope to find someone within the next week. I need to work through this birth trauma, as well as my postpartum rage that I have been experiencing for the past 4 months.

Postpartum is no joke.

Motherhood isn’t for the faint of heart.

How can something that fills me with so much love also bring me so much pain?

I may never know.

I love my daughter fiercely.

I love being a mother.

I was born for this.

But I just wish things happened differently.

I would love to continue this conversation with you, and expand more on some of the other ways that postpartum has affected me, even nearly 15-months after my birth.

But this is the real, the raw, my experience.

It’s not what I planned. But it’s my story.

I get to hold my baby forever now. But it feels like forever isn’t long enough. I’m working to accept it.

Thank you for reading.

xo 

Mother of Fawn