My baby and I weren’t ready.  I went to the hospital the next night, more than 24 hours after my membranes were stripped.  I thought I was in transition, but I was only 1cm.  I requested to go home.  The next morning, the hospital called and asked why I hadn’t come in again.  My husband told them there was no change.  They demanded I come in to be checked.  I was 3cm and they had me get into the shower to get that last cm so they could admit me.  After my admittance, what followed was the “cascade of interventions” my Bradley instructors had told us about.  I progressed slowly, with a “bulging bag of waters”, so I was made to believe if my waters were broken, I would progress faster.  I let them break my water because when you are in labor, you will believe ANYTHING they tell you will get you through it faster.  My labor didn’t change.  Without even thinking, I allowed them to put the internal fetal monitor on my baby.  Then I was told that if I had pitocin, they could get my contractions closer together, though they were so strong, you couldn’t see the tops of them on the monitor.  24 hours of hard labor on my own and I gave into pitocin, couldn’t handle the increase in pain, so I asked for an epidural.  The epidural didn’t work.  I couldn't move my legs, but I could feel every contraction.  Finally, I asked them to turn off the epidural because I knew I wouldn’t be able to push when it came time.  After 34 hours of hard labor, I was told I was 8cm and I had one hour to dilate to a 10 or surgery would be performed.  I was still strong, there were no signs of distress in the baby, so I asked my husband to go out and talk to the doctor.  I said, “Ask her ‘why one hour? Why not two?”  After all that time, I still had some fight in me.  My husband came back from his conversation and told me he felt that the doctor was right.  One hour later, when I was still 8cm, I was wheeled into the Operating Room.  EXACTLY 12 hours after my water had been broken, my daughter was surgically removed from my body.  I was on a clock and I didn’t even realize it.  I was educated enough to have foreseen all of this, but in the middle of the most vulnerable time in my life, I was easily lead away from what was so important to me.  A natural birth for my baby.

I couldn’t complain about my recovery.  My baby nursed beautifully, and 2 weeks after her birth, we took some friends on a drive south to see Portage Glacier.  When she was 3 weeks old, we found out my husband would be deploying as a result of the events of 9/11 and I never once thought I wasn’t strong enough to handle single parenthood.  My second cesarean was completely different.

I worked hard to try to VBAC with my second daughter.  The doctors in Goldsboro, NC said they would be happy “to allow me a trial of labor”, but at the end of my pregnancy, they estimated by ultrasound that my baby was 9lbs 7oz.  At that appointment, the doctor said, “Now, you’re not just risking her life with a VBAC, you’ll break her collarbone when you push her out.  You need to book your c-section today.”  I went home, cried and because I am a “good mom”, I booked my surgery.  I booked it for my due date (the latest they would allow) in the hopes that I would go into labor on my own before then, but the morning came anyway.  My husband and I woke up early, drove to the hospital, walked into the hospital, and I said, “I’m here for the birth.”  I was so nervous.  The thought of being cut open was so scary, but I was happy to be meeting my daughter soon.  They hooked me up to an IV and shaved me.  I was wheeled into the operating room and was asked to get up and lie down on the surgery bed.  The bed looked like a cross.  There were places for me to put my arms to have them tied down.  I got into the bed and all I could think was that I was being sacrificed or crucified.  They put the spinal block into my spine and I was drugged up and ready to go.  They poked me a few times to see if I could feel anything and then started the surgery…