A Different Kind of Natural Birth

Welcome mom of three and writer, Lindsey Harding, as this week’s guest blogger

I had my first daughter just over five years ago, in April 2008. I was 36 weeks along. That morning, I had an ultrasound appointment with my OB at 11:00 a.m. My belly had been measuring small, and my doctor wanted to know why. I had my gym bag in the car, so I could stop for a light work-out on my way home.

But six weeks would pass before I was back on an elliptical. And I didn’t go home for four days.

At the appointment, my husband and I talked with our doctor before going in for the ultrasound. We discussed the final month and what to expect as we approached 40 weeks. The gist of our conversation was this: We’ll plan for a vaginal delivery once I go into labor. Classic. Sure. Sounded good to me. Even nine months in, I hadn’t really thought a whole lot about labor and birth. We had scheduled an expectant parent class for the following weekend. I figured that would help prepare us for what was to come. As though we could be prepared.

The ultrasound was the game-changer. After a brief scan, my OB informed us, “It looks like you’ll be meeting your little one today. And because the baby is breech, we’ll have to perform a c-section.” My placenta was starting to calcify. As my doctor explained, it was aging prematurely. Essentially, that meant the baby would do better on the outside. And that meant she had to come out. Quickly.

A blur of activity commenced. While I registered and prepared for surgery, my husband ran home to pack a hospital bag for us. I called my twin sister and my parents to tell them our news. “Surprise,” I said. “It’s baby day!” Of course, I was nervous. Everything was happening so fast. But more than that, I was excited, hopeful, and curious. My mom had had three c-sections, and we had talked about them during my pregnancy. Now I would be having one, too. In just a little while, I would enter the operating room to meet the wee squalling thing I had been dreaming about and waiting for for months. Years, really. My whole life.

In the two hour span between my appointment that morning and Riley’s birth, and in the five years since, I never thought about how I could have avoided a c-section, nor did it occur to me that I missed the natural birth experience. All that mattered – both then and now – was my baby girl. That she was here, finally. That she was healthy, thank god. That she was mine to cherish, care for, and love. That’s it.

The loose and vague birth plan – wait and see – changed quickly to an urgent and specific one: c-section today. And that change was accompanied by a host of changes. The crib needed to be put together before we were discharged. My dad surprised us with a visit. I wouldn’t be returning to teach that semester. We had to unenroll from the expectant parent class. Diapers were added to our shopping list. On and on.

So we rolled with it. We had to. And I think that was the most valuable lesson I took away from my first daughter’s birth: be ready for plans to change, and to change quickly.

Welcome Riley

Right after Riley was delivered, I got to see her and hold her. But it was brief. She had some trouble breathing and needed oxygen. So, we snapped a single picture and off she went. After that, I didn’t see her until 7:00 that night when I was feeling up to a wheelchair ride to the special care nursery. There, I held her and tried to nurse her until I needed to lie back down and she, too, was ready for a nap.

Looking back now, I realize I didn’t spend a lot of time with Riley on her first day of life, but that didn’t prevent me from nursing her for seven months, and that hasn’t stopped us from forming the bond we have today. We seem to keep getting closer each day. Now, when we have “sleepovers” she lets me share her pillow and asks me to hold her. And so I do. We fall asleep that way, our hair tangling together, our faces centimeters apart.

Three years ago, I had a son, Adrian. Eighteen months ago, I had another baby girl, Sidney. Both were born via repeat c-section, planned for from the outset but also early due to low amniotic fluid levels and aging placentas. I nursed Adrian for eight months and Sidney for twelve. I feel every bit as connected to them as I do to Riley. We snuggle and cuddle. Adrian hugs my leg and tells me, “I missed you, Mommy” when he wakes up in the morning. Sidney runs over to me with her arms raised high. “Hold me, hold me, hold me,” she says.

C-section number 2: Adrian

Each c-section recovery was different. The first one was wrapped up in the transition to parenthood, and since I’ve never been so tired in my whole life, I don’t remember much of it. I know it hurt to laugh at first. When Riley shot poop across the (carpeted) nursery floor, I remember holding my stomach and begging my husband to stop laughing, so I, too, could stop.

The second one was a breeze. I knew what to expect, and the hospital gave me a binder (a thick fabric wrap for my belly) this time. I took my pain medication regularly and lifted nothing heavier than my baby boy once we left the hospital – a day early. I started a summer of master’s degree courses two weeks later, and I ran my first mile when Adrian was seven weeks old.

A familiar routine: Sidney

By the third c-section, the whole process from surgery through recovery was a very familiar routine. That meant I could focus even more on what was new: Sidney. While we were in the hospital, she spent most of the time in our room, but she went back to the nursery while I rested between feedings at night and took walks on the floor once I was allowed up and out of bed. I had learned that walking coupled with pain medication right from the beginning seemed to ensure a smoother recovery. Not pain-free, but manageable. It still hurt to get up and back into bed, but movement early and often helped get my body back in gear.

Now, I sometimes wonder what a contraction feels like. I wonder what it would be like to push and whether it’s anything like a Hollywood labor scene. But that’s only because those are different experiences, ones I didn’t have.

Instead I know what it’s like to feel pressure on my abdomen and then hear a new voice rise above the sounds of moving bodies and beeping machines. I know what it’s like to see my bundled baby for the first time, brought to me in my husband’s arms, around the drapes. I know what it’s like to lie and wait and look forward to seeing my baby again, and again, and again, as doctors stitch my incision closed. I think that quiet time to reflect alone in the midst of status changes – to mother, to mother of two, and to mother of three – was pretty special, too. For in those forty-five minutes, even when I had to fight nausea, the miracle I was part of began to sink in. For me, that time yielded a sense of calm and peace that became, in time, the patience and confidence I have come to have as a mother.

For with motherhood, I have found that responsibilities are thrust upon you even before you have the qualifications and experience. You enter into new, strange, beautiful, and sometimes painful and difficult experiences and do the best you can. You learn from these experiences and, along the way, the wonders of motherhood reveal themselves. And for me, that all started when I first learned I was having a c-section.

Lindsey Harding

Lindsey Harding is a mother of three small children and a Ph.D. student at The University of Georgia. Her personal and academic interests include motherhood, writing, and digital media.  Her stories have appeared online in The Boiler, Xenith, and Wilderness House Literary Review. She has blogged about motherhood since 2008, most recently at www.themilktree.wordpress.com. She lives in Athens, Georgia, with her family.