My pregnancy was fine. I'd advise myself not to work for a sexist UAV who fired me (with a plausible excuse) 8 months along, but that's neither here nor there.
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Get the whole "it can't possibly happen to me" mentality regarding c-section and complications out of my head. Yeah, I knew intellectually that anything could happen, and I was OK with it when it did happen but it took some processing to get through it, even though everyone I've talked to (including my pro-NCB doctor and my childbirth educator/doula cousin) said my c-section was necessary. (I pushed for four hours, in many positions and with some occasional manual assistance, with no real progress, and, when my heart rate spiked into the 130s and 140s and didn't go back down, there was concern about my heart. I could have continued had we been making progress, and I could have continued had my heart not given me problems, but the combination of the two made the risk of continuing too high. And I agree, again at least intellectually.)
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That said, I would go in with the same attitude: "It will hurt and then it will be over." As it was, I wasn't in a major amount of pain. (And this isn't post-partum amnesia--everyone in the room with me says I expressed similar sentiments during the event.) Contractions were manageable, pushing was manageable. He never crowned so I don't know if that would have been terrible, but anyway.
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Take more iron. I passed out from post-partum anemia (I have a history of mild anemia) and needed a transfusion.
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Either refuse the GBS test or find a way to cheat it--I hated that stupid heplock and IV, which I had for the sole reason of GBS antibiotics, and even now I have a visceral reaction to seeing every single picture of every mother who's had a hospital birth with that tangled web of tubes around her hand. I'd probably need a heplock at the very least, in the unlikely event I have another (not just because it would be "policy" for a VBAC, but because the anemia makes excessive blood loss a lot more likely). Maybe find out if I could have one in my arm instead of in my hand.
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Tell the pushy nurse (the one bad one I had out of many good ones) what she could do with her patient-administered painkillers. They didn't seem to understand that I didn't care if I had 0-1 on a 1-10 pain scale; I'd be OK with a 4-5 if it meant I could stay lucid.
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