I was a strong, empowered woman. I believed in my body, I had no fear of birth. I planned a home waterbirth. I had the best midwives I could find. My spouse was 200% supportive and enthusiastic. I was fastidious about my diet and supplements. I was healthy and active during my pregnancy. My baby was active and joyful.
I had prodromal labor for days on end, almost two weeks. After a visit to the chiro I felt a change in my contractions. Twelve hours later my membranes ruptured. I was hypnobirthing, trying to remain peaceful and calm during my labor pains, which were significant. I tried many positions to move my stubbornly posterior baby. Eighteen hours after that I had a vaginal exam, and I was shown to have dilated to barely 4cm. Six hours after trying everything we could, my wonderful, amazing midwives recommended I transfer. I was in a cloud of disbelief.
I, who had never, ever, ever thought in my wildest dreams that I could possibly transfer to a hospital, had to pack a bag and tearfully make the journey to the maternity ward. I was treated like a freak and almost like a child abuser for making the choices I had made. My husband and my midwives supported me, but they couldn't shield me from the all the comments, the looks, the judgement, and most of all, the brutality of the medical model. I was strapped to a table by various monitors and cords. They put an IV in me, and would not let me urinate, since my bag of waters had broken. they tried to cathetarize me, but I was having contractions two minutes apart and the student nurses were hurting me more than accomplishing anything.
The back labor I had borne so well at home became unbearable, as they forced me to lie on my back, to keep the fetal monitor in place. I began shaking uncontrollably from the hormones and the adrenaline. I was sobbing and not in control of my emotions. I didn't want the epidural, but they were going to start the pitocin, and even my midwife told me to get the epidural. She knew that I was going to end up with one anyway, since she knew that a surgical birth was immenent. I didn't know what she knew, and I sobbed and felt like a failure as the needle stuck into my spine. After two hours of pitocin, I still had not progressed.
They wheeled me to the operating room, and I felt something break inside of me. For the first time in my life, I had failed at something. Always always before, no matter what I put my mind to, I could do it. I have done many hard things in my life, simply because I put my mind to it, and would not allow myself to fail. This time, this most important of times, I failed. I failed me, I failed my child, I failed my husband who held my hand and cried silent tears with me.
I didn't get to hold my child until he was two hours old. I didn't hold him to my breast until he was eight hours old. I didn't even get to unwrap him and discover him for myself, his precious little toes, perfect fingers. Someone else did that when they changed his first diaper, and I was forced to watch, because I could not get out of bed. It was the last thing I had left, and they took it from me.
I feel violated. I feel broken. I feel like part of me died.
I had prodromal labor for days on end, almost two weeks. After a visit to the chiro I felt a change in my contractions. Twelve hours later my membranes ruptured. I was hypnobirthing, trying to remain peaceful and calm during my labor pains, which were significant. I tried many positions to move my stubbornly posterior baby. Eighteen hours after that I had a vaginal exam, and I was shown to have dilated to barely 4cm. Six hours after trying everything we could, my wonderful, amazing midwives recommended I transfer. I was in a cloud of disbelief.
I, who had never, ever, ever thought in my wildest dreams that I could possibly transfer to a hospital, had to pack a bag and tearfully make the journey to the maternity ward. I was treated like a freak and almost like a child abuser for making the choices I had made. My husband and my midwives supported me, but they couldn't shield me from the all the comments, the looks, the judgement, and most of all, the brutality of the medical model. I was strapped to a table by various monitors and cords. They put an IV in me, and would not let me urinate, since my bag of waters had broken. they tried to cathetarize me, but I was having contractions two minutes apart and the student nurses were hurting me more than accomplishing anything.
The back labor I had borne so well at home became unbearable, as they forced me to lie on my back, to keep the fetal monitor in place. I began shaking uncontrollably from the hormones and the adrenaline. I was sobbing and not in control of my emotions. I didn't want the epidural, but they were going to start the pitocin, and even my midwife told me to get the epidural. She knew that I was going to end up with one anyway, since she knew that a surgical birth was immenent. I didn't know what she knew, and I sobbed and felt like a failure as the needle stuck into my spine. After two hours of pitocin, I still had not progressed.
They wheeled me to the operating room, and I felt something break inside of me. For the first time in my life, I had failed at something. Always always before, no matter what I put my mind to, I could do it. I have done many hard things in my life, simply because I put my mind to it, and would not allow myself to fail. This time, this most important of times, I failed. I failed me, I failed my child, I failed my husband who held my hand and cried silent tears with me.
I didn't get to hold my child until he was two hours old. I didn't hold him to my breast until he was eight hours old. I didn't even get to unwrap him and discover him for myself, his precious little toes, perfect fingers. Someone else did that when they changed his first diaper, and I was forced to watch, because I could not get out of bed. It was the last thing I had left, and they took it from me.
I feel violated. I feel broken. I feel like part of me died.
I'm so sorry that it happened to you too.
: Eventually I decided that I just had to have more children and that to do that I would have to trust my body again. Time helped in the healing, and my most recent birth gave back to me what my first on took away. I don't know if you're planning to have more children or not, but I feel like a new woman, despite the CBAC. Not saying that you have to have another birth to heal, but I feel 98% healed from my first birth...I don't think it'll ever go away completely, but I'm ok with that now.
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