Feelings

While I would be the first to discount the whole "birth experience" phenom, as in, just be glad you have a live baby, things could be much worse, why are you even complaining about it, when you're making decisions based on the trust and expertise of your doctor, who has been with you since you conceived the twins, who gave you the grim news of the dilated cervix at 23 weeks, and all that the shit hit in the next 10 days, you would think that anything she tells you should be taken with all the salt in the world.

And for her to tell you that the risks associated with a VBAC are much greater in women who have not had a previous vaginal birth, while you are laying in a hospital bed with contractions 10 minutes apart, with an ill-measured dilation, when in all the long months before she was supportive and confident that a VBAC could be achieved (though she did reiterate that sentiment after disclosing the addional risks), you have to start questioning. You Have To!

And let me mention that she is 6 months pregnant, and although we were fortunate that she was on call, imagine your own doctor being able to deliver your live baby, she did mention that if things did not pick up, as in my contractions not increase, she would be off at 9 am the next morning and her baby shower was that day as well.

This is not an issue of me having the perfect birth experience. Had his health been in danger, I would not be writing this post. But his health was not compromised, nor was mine, throughout the entire pushing Olympics, while I squatted, bore down, pushed my tender tissues inside out, with hemorrhoids on top of hemorrhoids forming, with mineral oil-coated fingers stretching my vag six ways from Sunday. A vaginal birth was not without its own specially assigned pain, you see, and I had no idea it was going to be that difficult. (In the ensuing days, word of my pushing performance traveled throughout the department and each of the rotating nurses applauded my efforts.)

The common complaint about c-sections is that they are done for the convenience of scheduling. Proven? She probably looked great in her shower pictures.

Ultimately -- I signed the consent form. I took what I thought was the lesser of two evils, hell I had a c-section before so I knew what to expect. You want to vacuum my son out of me? She could have presented the third option, which was to stop pushing for a bit and continue to labor.

She was, however, kind enough to remove my old scar and assured me that this one would heal much nicer. Just in time for my bikini line to debut on Top Model.

So begins the care and feeding of a c-section, much more difficult, physically, with having to care for and feed a baby. Surprisingly, my recovery thus far is much more advanced than after the last one and I'm glad for that. I stopped the painkillers on day 7. But shit, the scar tissue. The numbness. The several layers of healing. The ouch when the fold of my [elastic-waisted] jeans hits the scar. More months of taking it easy. Just added hassle, ya know?

And no shit the birth experience is irrelevant. I am not unhappy that my beautiful son is here because I had a c-section. I'm not wallowing about while I gaze at his gorgeous face and his (I know they're not real, yet) smiles, and smell his baby breath and stroke his soft, full head of hair. Welcome home, sweetheart.