I’ve had the good fortune—or misfortune, depending on how you look at it—to experience both. Like many moms, I would have liked to give birth to my children as naturally and traditionally as possible. I even insisted that my doctor run more tests when she told me my placenta was malpositioned and that we should consider a cesarean. I got my way; my placenta did indeed reposition itself, but after 32 hours of unsuccessful labor, I was treated to my husband’s comment: “You should have gone ahead with the C-section,” right before I took a little ride on a stretcher to the operating room.
So I ended up having what you might call an emergency C-section—not because I was bleeding out or the baby was experiencing complications, but more because he was starting to get tired. Who could blame him after 32 hours? Even though I was tired (no, “tired” isn’t the right word), even though I was so exhausted I was shaking, even though the suctioning sensation as they pulled the baby out made me feel like a toilet bowl someone was trying to unclog—for me, it was a relief to finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
When I told my friends and family that I’d have to have another C-section to give birth to my daughter (another placenta issue), some people told me it would be easier, less stressful, since it was scheduled and not an emergency. For me, it was the complete opposite.
For those who don’t know how it works, you’re asked to arrive at the hospital by 7 a.m., even though you know your slot in the OR is scheduled for 9:30 a.m. At first, you wait in your room, wearing a hospital gown on your bed. Around 7:45 a.m., they tell you to go to the OR to get ready for your C-section. You think to yourself, WOW, that’s fast… Well, not really. I can’t explain why, but they make you wait nearly an hour on a plastic chair. I was fine where I was, on my bed, scrolling through my phone. Alone (with your partner) while waiting, you start thinking about what’s coming. Yes, you’re about to meet your baby, but you’re also about to have your abdomen cut open to get the baby out. You start thinking about all the possible complications, about everything you’ve read (and probably shouldn’t have) online.
After almost an hour of waiting, you walk into the all-white room alone (without your partner), with all the lights trained on you and masked, gloved staff chatting among themselves about their weekend. While your partner still hasn’t returned, they stick a needle into your spine, strap your arms down so you can’t move, and drape a sheet over you so you can’t see what they’re doing down there.
Since nobody seems stressed, it feels like it’s taking forever, and you have way too much time to think. You start to lose feeling in your legs. Even though you know it’s normal—that’s the whole point of the needle in your spine—it’s still pretty scary. You have time to think, “What if the feeling doesn’t come back?” and start imagining all kinds of scenarios…
If I had the choice to relive both experiences… 32 hours of labor isn’t so bad J
By Valérie Louise Pesant