A Tale of Two C-Sections

By Rachel

Section 1
About one month before my due date, Hurricane Irene hit. There I was on all fours in my basement, taping garbage bags to the bottoms of the doors in an attempt to stop total carnage in our newly refinished basement. (It didn’t work. We redid basement again). For the next week, all I heard was “Oh, the barometric pressure will make you go into labor” and “You should name her Irene.” Um, no. 

Fast forward to my due date. Nothing was happening. My OB told us he’d induce me the next week, and that my husband should take off that Monday. Somehow, I did not equate this with having a baby that day. 

Monday morning, I was monitored in the office. I was apparently having faint contractions, which I wasn’t feeling.

“Well,” the ob said, “ready to go have a baby?” 

In a state of shock (me) and nerves, excitement, and terror (us), we drove home to get my bag and go to the hospital. 

I got to the hospital and met the anesthesiologist, who was bubbly and funny. It wasn’t busy, so she started recommending her favorite rooms. I was brought into my chosen room and had an IV started and the monitor hooked up. Everyone was in a supportive, calm, good mood. Someone came in to tell me about the massage I would get after I had the baby. I met a few nurses. I signed papers. 

The nurse came to start the induction. She held my IV in one hand and the connector in the other. 

And then my daughter’s heart rate plummeted. 

All of a sudden, there were what seemed like 20 people in the room. The anesthesiologist, instantly serious, put something in my IV. Apparently, the nurses had me moving around in different positions. I don’t remember this, my husband told me afterwards. I do remember that I couldn’t see him because of the sea of people. I do remember screaming “What’s wrong with my baby?!” and the nurses trying to get me calm. I do remember the hospitalist quickly telling me his name, and that I was having a c-section NOW under general anesthesia because I hadn’t even had time for an epidural. I was wheeled down the hall and put on the table—

And then her heart rate came back down. The nurse called out, “Do you hear that? That’s your baby!” 

The emergency section was called off. The anesthesiologist started my epidural. My OB ran into the room, looking mildly horrified, and told me he’d run every red light in our town. I believed him; he had gotten there so fast he would have been in time to do the emergency section.

Back in my room, they started the induction and I watched the heart rate monitor nervously. An hour or so later, I knew it wasn’t working; she wasn’t in danger but wasn’t tolerating the medication. My doctor came back and examined me again. He looked at me and said, “Well…”

I looked back at him and said, “Let’s go.”

So she was born shortly thereafter by c-section. The anesthesiologist pulled the curtain down and I got to see her as soon as she came out. I asked if she was seven pounds (her predicted weight), and they laughed at me before she was even put on the scale. She was only six pounds one ounce! 

It turns out that my fluid was gone and the cord was wrapped around her foot; essentially she was bungee-jumping in space, and didn’t like even my mild contractions. Finally I understood why there always seemed to be a foot under my ribs. 

We actually enjoyed the time in the hospital, other than my pain and the lack of sleep. We turned off all our electronics; my husband went home once a day to shower and check email. 

I recovered fairly quickly. Once I got home, within a week I was walking around the block.

What I learned from this experience:

• I am grateful for modern medicine and the invention of the c-section.
• I am so grateful for the people who worked to save her.
• My husband is grateful that he did not have to see me labor and be in pain for hours.
• And when she is older, I think it will be easier to explain to her that the doctor cut mommy open, took her out, and then sewed mommy up again! 

Section 2
When I learned I was pregnant with my second child, I knew instantly that I wanted a repeat c-section rather than attempt a VBAC. For me, the risks were just too great. At some point around 28 weeks, my doctor looked at a calendar and chose a date that was actually only three days before my due date. I was happy that he was going to try to let me go so long, because my daughter was so small, and I wanted to let my son grow as long as possible. Towards the end of my pregnancy, though, I was hoping otherwise. I had severe hip pain, which made walking, sitting, and moving in general very painful. I became convinced that he would come early and that he would be a huge baby.

Well, he made it to his scheduled date. And he wasn’t huge at all. 

What a difference it made to have a scheduled section rather than an emergency one. I got a letter from the hospital telling me what to do, where to go, and that I had to be there at 5:30 AM. I knew how long I would be in the hospital. It was very calming and very, very strange at the same time. One week until I have the baby. Three days until I have the baby. Two hours…

We checked into the hospital and were brought back to the pre-op area. I changed. A nurse came in to see me, held up a razor in one hand and an IV in the other, grinned, and said, “I am not your friend.” After that was all taken care of, we waited. 

And then it was time. I walked into the OR to get my spinal. My husband got into his space suit and came in. The doctors and nurses were relaxed and trying to joke with me. They started…

And in a very short time, down came the curtain again, and there he was. 

I instantly blurted out, “He’s blond!” 

My hair is almost black. My husband’s hair is black. My son is BLOND. And blue-eyed like his daddy. 

He was only about half a pound bigger than my daughter; the hip pain I’d been having was just from hormones and the way he was positioned. Despite the new “operation pain,” I realized my hip pain was gone the minute the anesthesia wore off.

I had a harder time in the hospital the second time around. I was more sleepy and had more pain than I remembered from before. My father was staying at our house to help with our daughter. My husband would rush home in the morning, wake her up and take her to daycare, take a shower and come back. He stayed with me all day and then went to get her in the afternoon, gave her dinner and played with her, and then put her to bed before coming back.

On the morning of the third day, he brought her to me. We hadn’t really explained anything to her, because we didn’t think she’d understand. But when my husband told her she was going to see Mommy, she started grinning and repeating it over and over again. When she saw me, she jumped into my arms and burrowed into me as if she wanted to climb back inside. I held her for a long time. When my ob came in, she looked at me, looked at her, and asked me if I wanted to go home.

And home we went, now a family of four.