Why I Loved My C-Section
In April 2020, I delivered a breech baby via cesarean section. And I loved it.
You’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to aim for the gold: a natural, drug free vaginal birth, and admit to any deviation with a measure of sheepishness — the Caesarean section in particular: Facing one, expectant mothers are filled with sorrow. Like they’ll be cheated of their birth. Like they’re cheating.
Nearly a third of babies born in the United States are delivered this way, and they all have mothers who worked very hard to get them there. That there are possibly too many c-sections in this country is not exactly under the control of you, the expecting mom whose expectations have likely just been upended.
Cursory research yields mainly anecdotal lists of lesser outcomes. While the actual numbers are very comforting, I experienced an odd pushback when I shared them: people extended sympathy I didn’t need, regrets I didn’t have. It still happens. Enough of this, please. A c-section is not a failure. And it is certainly not cheating. It is a birth, it’s a miracle, and it is absolutely beautiful.
New York went into lockdown the day after my baby shower, and my 36 week checkup happened the day birth partners were asked to stay in the car. I burst into tears in the waiting room, where the tech took pity on us and allowed my masked husband back into the ultrasound room. After the chaos of the waiting room, the cool dark was a balm; we were silent as the tech applied the jelly and we waited for our son to appear.
We were so awestruck at the liquid kicks and squirms of his tiny frog body up on the monitor, that the tech’s casual “somebody’s still upside down, huh?’ didn’t register at first. I was confident I’d flipped him after his 20-week ultrasound, and by 36 weeks, I was all-in on all-natural: practicing hypnobirthing techniques and visualization, six days of prenatal yoga a week, fresh air walks, eating five dates every evening and attempting the primrose oil massage. And just like that, my preparations didn’t matter. My baby was breech.
About 3–4% of all babies try to come into the world feet-first, and the overwhelming majority of these are born by c-section. Although there are many safely delivered exceptions, it’s generally considered safer and less complicated than a vaginal breech delivery: my local hospital does not perform vaginal breech births as a matter of policy and this is not uncommon.
I met with a midwife afterward, and she offered to schedule an ECV — a procedure where a doctor attempts to manually turn the baby. It has to be done at the hospital, under epidural. It has about a 50% efficacy rate for first time moms, which I was. It can also lead to fetal distress. The thing about breech babies is you don’t always know why they’re upside down. I had visions of a neck wrapped in umbilical cord, like mine was when I was born.
So I declined the ECV, and the midwife nodded. I was surprised, but then she said “I had three c-sections. You’ll be fine. Who’s your regular doctor?”
We stopped at the Hannaford on the way home. My husband parked at the very edge of the lot, put on masks, gloves, sunglasses. It was still new, we were doing the best we could. It was the first warm day, and I pushed the car door open, let my leg swing in the sun and felt a rush of joy. I knew my baby’s birthday. Amidst all the fear and creeping doom of the pandemic, here was one thing I knew. Against all the prevailing wisdom, I felt safe.
This is a broad look at an individual situation: every mother, every birth, every baby is different. There are huge variables amongst women who require c-sections, and major race and income-based disparities rampant in American health care that can lead to unnecessary birth surgeries, which should be avoided. The unavoidable reality, however, is that one out of about three babies, and their moms, will experience this intervention.
I was happier about the news than anyone else. My mom was as supportive as any former labor and delivery nurse who had two quick, perfect, natural drug-free births could be. My dad sounded a little nervous. But my friends who’d had babies recently all said ‘that sounds fine’.
At my next appointment, a different midwife pushed the ECV harder. “You don’t even want to try? You’re a great candidate.” I’m happy I’d read and thought so much about what exactly I wanted. It isn’t hard to talk someone into something if you’re the one they’re supposed to listen to.
And I had been listening: while the nurse took my vitals, this midwife took a phone call in her office across the hall. Her dog needed a c-section the night before. The midwife’s dog! She laughed. The irony! But to me, it was a sign. I was firm: no ECV. Her frown straightened. “Good. You should trust your instincts.” I do, I thought. And you tried to talk me out of them.
It is generally agreed that an uncomplicated, drug-free vaginal delivery is the best-case scenario for both mom and baby. But this scenario — which does, of course, happen everywhere all the time — is often completely out of your control. That birthing a baby is so regularly life-threatening seems a major flaw in our evolution, but it’s not one that’s likely to be remedied any time soon: that many birth practitioners view c-sections as an unnecessary medical intervention does nothing to prevent the reality that they do happen.
Of course there are negatives. It is a serious, major surgery. In many cases, one c-section means multiple c-sections: if you plan to have more babies, some hospitals will not deliver them vaginally, although plenty do. There can be serious risks with future pregnancies, particularly with the placenta: the rates of placenta accreta and placenta previa are significantly increased.
But for every negative warning, I found a positive I’d never imagined. Aside from the security of knowing when we’d meet our baby, we were able to research the procedure, ask questions, prepare our home, arrange for a friend to stay with the dogs and family to drop off meals. There was no scramble, no panic. The calm flooded the last days of my pregnancy, stayed through the surreal early morning drive to the hospital: I remember the color of the sky, the shape of the clouds, the chill of the parking lot.
We got to the hospital just before 7am, and by 9:30 the nurses wheeled me into the operating theater, sat me up on the table, inserted the spinal, and I was lying on my back inside a minute. They brought in my husband just as I finished throwing up on the anesthesiologist (this is normal — for both me, and the procedure) and my only moment of concern was here: everything moved so efficiently it didn’t seem possible for the medication to have already kicked in, but when the doctor asked if I could feel my leg I was shocked by the absence of sensation.
For the next few moments, the doctor operated and my husband and I held hands, spent our last moments as a family of two. At 10:09 they pulled open a window in the surgery drape and we saw our son, bloody-faced and screaming like a tiny warrior.
They weighed him, my husband cut the cord. And they gave me my baby. A nurse took pictures: in them I look dumbfounded, amazed. It is the same look I’ve seen on the faces of friends and family and perfect strangers when they see their child for the first time, regardless of how that child entered the world.
You can breastfeed. Immediately: the removal of the placenta is what triggers milk production, and they take that out right along with the baby. My son crawled up my chest and latched the moment they placed him on me. Am I fortunate beyond my dreams? Absolutely. But my experience isn’t rare.
A c-section is a magical event, and it is a birth — as hard-core as they come. It is serious, major surgery. The entire abdominal wall is cut through. Organs are moved. There is anesthesia involved, the recovery is significant. It is a medically assisted birth of your child, it is a wonder this medicine exists.
Because I knew what was happening, I was able to relax into the amazing and the mundane, the wondrous banality of it all. Thousands of people have babies everyday, it is still the world-shaking event of your life.
If this isn’t what you wanted, if this isn’t what you expected, there is still room for joy. There is strength and calm in the knowledge, and there will still be a thousand unknowns, like with any birth. However your baby comes into the world, there will be magic in the room with you.
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