Well, here we are six weeks postpartum. My second bouncing baby boy was born at the beginning of September, five hours past his due date--or as I say, fashionably (but not rudely) late. Pretty much right up until two weeks before he was born, I struggled with a major decision. Because my first son was born via C-section, I had to decide whether to have another C-section or try a vaginal birth after Cesarian (VBAC). I had agonized over this decision for months, and my obstetrician couldn't give me conclusive advice until late in the third trimester, when it looked like everything was A-OK.
My first son was born via C-section after a routine office visit because my amniotic fluid was too low, he was breech, and he was suffering from intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR). When my obstetrician came into the room and told me we were having the baby that day, I started to cry. I had errands to run, the cats needed to go to the vet--I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE THREE MORE WEEKS! My surgery was scheduled for 2:00, but when the baby's heart rate dropped from 120 to 60 BPM, I was rushed to the operating room. The next five days in the hospital were a blur of drugs, pumping my breasts, and saying weird shit (my brother says I was hilarious--I don't remember). At home, I was useless. I couldn't get up off the couch without help. I remember one evening when my husband was busy upstairs, it started to rain, and I couldn't close the windows because my abs had been sliced open. Months later, after a discussion with my obstetrician, it became clear that without intervention, my son wouldn't have lasted the weekend in the womb.
So, I had to ask myself if I wanted to relive that experience. Granted, this time around, circumstances were different, and I'd know what to expect and prepare for it better (for example, don't bring pajama pants to the hospital if you are having a C-section because the band falls right on the incision). A scheduled C-section would make it easier for us to coordinate childcare during my hospital stay, and we wouldn't have the question of "when" hanging over our heads. However, my heart was taking me in the direction of a VBAC.
I read what the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists had to say on the subject, and decided that I looked like a good candidate. I had the right type of incision, I didn't labor with my first child, and I didn't have any medical conditions that would make vaginal delivery risky. Moreover, I'm not sure I'm done having children, and every C-section you have makes the next one riskier (although, Ethel Kennedy is purported to have had nine). I got the blessing from my obstetrician at week 38, after another ultrasound confirmed that this baby didn't have any of the complications that my first had.
So, we went for it with the idea that if anything looked risky, we'd go straight to the operating room.
My husband and I had just settled down to watch Animal Odd Couples (...what?) when I had my first contraction. Within an hour, contractions were every five minutes apart, as they would be for the next 31 hours. We spent two nights and one day in the hospital laboring, during which time I was not allowed to eat, and sleep was just a joke. Because I was attempting VBAC, I was hooked up to a telemetry unit for monitoring that allowed me to walk around the unit. I got short breaks during which I could walk around the rest of the hospital. At four centimeters, after 27 hours of hard labor, I got a merciful, magical epidural. I cried extensively t the thought of pushing because--well, pushing a person out of my vagina seemed like it would be uncomfortable. But it was the best part! I finally got to fight back, and with the wonders of drugs pumped directly into my spine, it didn't hurt. I was finally going to meet my son!
The nurses put my soaking wet baby on my chest after 45 minutes of pushing, and I knew I made the right decision (I had told my husband that I made a mistake and should have gotten the C-section more than once during labor). With my first, he was whisked off to the nursery and radiology right away, so I didn't get to meet him for a few hours, which has always haunted me. So meeting my second before the nurses wrapped him in a towel felt like a blessing (really, really gross, but a blessing).
When we got home, I was a capable, functioning person, unlike after my C-section when my husband had to wait on me hand and foot. My husband even commented that by lunch time on the day #2 was born, he thought, "Yay! Liz is back!" He didn't worry leaving me at the hospital for the next two nights so he could go home and care for our toddler because I could get out of bed and meet any other needs by myself. And what a relief to be able to play with my toddler--I couldn't imagine not being able to pick him up for three weeks, as would be the case with surgery.
Although I wouldn't call laboring fun, I would do it all again over surgery any day. As a woman, I'm glad I got to experience childbirth the old fashioned way (with drugs, of course. I'm not crazy.), and letting things take the natural course felt right. My vagina was pretty angry at me for the first three weeks or so, but we will be friends again someday (I hope).
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