What the body was MEANT to do...?

Ok - so I've been thinking about this for a good few months now, and I just have to get it off my chest.

Malia was an unplanned c-section. When I went into the hospital, I though my water had broken. It hadn't, but my OB was on-call that night, and it was my due date, so they decided to break my water for me. This sent me immediately into labor. A very painful, long, and difficult labor. Okay, so maybe 18 hours isn't that long... as I've heard of longer... but, trust me. When a person is having contractions that are so long and so painful that even the nurses watch the screen monitoring the contractions in disbelief, then 18 hours is long.

During that time, I felt like a puppet because I was attached to so many things with cords. I had a catheter as well as a blood pressure gauge. I also had an epidural (I tried to hold out - but again, I was having contractions that were 8+ minutes long and off the charts in strength). I had an IV (that's 4 cords and counting). PLUS - because my contractions were so severe, and we later learned that Malia's foot was lodged in my rib so she wasn't descending. at. all. - I had to constantly wear an oxygen mask and she had to have the internal fetal monitor (the kind that goes into the mommy with a needle in the baby's head for more accurate readings).

Throughout my labor, Malia's heart rate would drop from a normal 150-ish BPM to about 55 BPM in a matter of seconds. This happened dozens of times. Let me tell you - there is nothing as terrifying as slowly drifting off to sleep to a steady beeping only to wake in a panic as you hear it rapidly slow and a nurse comes in, frantically, shifting your heavy body every which way she can, in hopes to pick the rate back up.

Long story short, after pushing for 45 minutes and the doctor using forceps (which is a nightmare for me... my skull was fractured at my birth by forceps), the doctor finally threw up his hands and had me sign the release for surgery because her heart rate was just not doing well.

After all of this, I had truly hoped to have a VBAC. This 2nd pregnancy, I was all ready to do it the way "God meant for us women." Now - had I lived in pioneer days, neither I nor Malia would probably even be alive. So, don't get me wrong, I am grateful it eventually worked out and that we have the technology to make miracles happen. But I really wanted to do this "right." I've had so many friends not only tell me about the miracle of giving birth, not to mention, naturally, and I've so envied that experience.

But when I went to my first visit with my OB for this pregnancy, she told me that she stopped doing VBACs 3 years ago when a patient's uterus rupturing all but almost killed her and the baby. They are a risky thing due to how fragile the uterus becomes once an incision has been made. Even one contraction in following pregnancies can cause a disaster. We spoke for a good 1/2 an hour and decided, due to the odd events surrounding Malia's birth and the unknown cause of it all, that it was best for me to have another c-section.

This breaks my heart.

I can't really explain it to anyone who doesn't know how this feels. Admittedly, and somewhat ashamedly... it hurts my pride. I feel less... "woman." I break down every time I read amazing birthing stories by friends and strangers alike. I didn't get to experience holding my child immediately. In fact, as they were stitching me up, David brought her over for maybe 30 seconds. That was my first glimpse. I was so numb, however, I couldn't lift my arm to touch her, even. And then I didn't see her for 2 whole hours. On top of that, I was pretty much forbidden from picking her up which meant, if I wanted to hold my own child, I had to have someone else retrieve her for me.

I'm not sharing this in a desire to attract sympathy or pity. I just need to let it out that I'm a little sad about it. I'm so excited to have this baby. And I am so very sure I will love her as much as I love my little Malia (which - after the surgery, I did fear we had lost some bonding time... I know now, that's impossible). But there is a part of me that feels like I am missing part of what makes a woman a woman. That strength that comes from saying "I survived giving birth!" I can't really claim that.

I tried.

God knows I really tried.

And even though, logically, I know it's not the case... I feel like I failed. I know. I know. It was something that couldn't be helped. But there's a little voice in my head that occasionally reminds me that so many women have gone through worse and still done it "the right way." Why couldn't I?

But now I won't get the chance to redeem myself as a true "woman" because it's too much of a risk.

And I just had to share, because it hurts my heart a little.

But I know I'll love her, so once it's all said and done and I'm stitched back up and the staples are out and 2 weeks of "forbidden-to-pick-up-my-child" have passed, I'll get over it.

But again... for now... it just sucks a little. And I just had to share.