Cecelia’s Birth

After ten long days past my due date, I came in for an induction on Tuesday August 30th. When we got to the hospital, I was barely 1cm dilated and was only having mild and sporadic contractions. Around 1pm I received my first dose of Cytotec with the goal of getting more dilated. John and I tried to make ourselves as comfortable as we could. The nurses all marveled at how active little baby Cece was, content to continue chilling in the womb.

A long night followed, with doses of Cytotec every four hours and contractions increasing in intensity and pattern. To my great disappointment though, by morning I had only dilated to 2cm. Around 9am, they broke my water to try and encourage things to move along.

After breaking my water, they started me on Pitocin which quickly strengthened the contractions. Contractions were painful now, I could no longer speak through them and had to focus on breathing. The Pitocin also made the contractions nearly a minute apart, giving me very small breaks only. Finally, I decided to get an epidural because I was getting so exhausted and I wanted to have the energy to push later.

By late afternoon, I had only progressed to 4cm. By this point, I was extremely discouraged. It felt as though we were trying everything and my body just refused to respond. My doctor said he could feel little Cece’s head, but they were concerned that her head was too large to properly dilate me. Cece’s heart rate began to drop a little because of the stress of all the contractions so they had to lower my Pitocin amount.

Evening came and around 5pm my doctor checked me one last time. Instead of progressing, I was actually regressing to around 3cm dilation because of swelling. My doctor said it was time for a c-section.

I had prepared myself mentally, emotionally, and physically for a natural birth, but a c-section was not something I had prepared for at all. I always told everyone that a c-section would be the last thing I’d want, it terrified me. I barely had time to come to terms with the fact that the birth was now going in this direction before they began making preparations.

My anxiety was at an all time high as they wheeled me into the operating room alone (John had to put on scrubs). As they increased the epidural, I began shaking uncontrollably. My arms were stretched out to the side and a curtain was placed just below my chin. John came in and I could see his face over me. I could feel pressure and pulling and tugging, then all of a sudden I felt her pulled out of me. When they took her out, it felt as though they removed my heart. I couldn’t see anything, all I could feel was that she was gone and it terrified me. I held my breath until I finally heard a squeaky cry. They held her around the side of the curtain and I got a quick look at her little purple body before they had to clean her up and vacuum her lungs to prevent meconium aspiration. John was able to go over and cut her cord.

None of it really felt real. I remember I was crying but I didn’t know if I was crying because I was happy she was here, or because I was terrified that I could no longer feel her. I wanted to hold her. I wanted her near me. She had never been this far away before.

Almost as quickly as it all started, it was over and they were finally handing her to me and wheeling me into recovery. I finally felt my heart rate slow, my breathing become easier, my system regulate as I held her tiny body close to me. I studied her face, her perfect button nose, pouty lips, soft cheeks and pinned back ears. I felt as though I was just meeting her, while also feeling like I already knew her intimately.

Throughout the hospital stay after, I was focused on taking care of her while also focusing on my own recovery. I knew I needed to emotionally process what I had just experienced, but I also decided to take time and first just soak in the new baby snuggles, new baby smell and soft new baby skin.

After a few days home, I have slowly given myself time to process and work through my emotions — usually while breastfeeding when I feel I have peaceful moments of just the two of us. Here is what I’ve processed:

• I had to grieve that the beautiful, empowering moment I had dreamed of — pushing her out into the world — had been replaced with an utterly powerless experience of lying on an operating table.
• I had to grieve the loss of that immediate skin-on-skin with her, and come to terms that I was the last person in the room to hold my baby.
• I had to readjust my perspective that I wasn’t a failure and I still gave birth to my baby, even though it felt as though the doctors birthed her for me.
• I had to bring my frustrated confusion to God — why didn’t my body go into labor, how come I wouldn’t dilate, why wouldn’t the medications work — and release those hurts to him.
• I found peace knowing I did absolutely everything I could, and yet it still ended up this way so this was clearly God’s will.
• I found peace as they wheeled me into the recovery room and I finally held my sweet daughter, utterly in awe that I was finally meeting the little person I had felt move and grow inside me for months.
• I found peace that she was healthy, that despite the stress her and I had gone through, she was so strong and brave. She made me want to be brave too.

I want to teach my sweet, sweet daughter that it’s okay to have complex feelings about things. I am overjoyed she is born, but I also struggle with my own unmet expectations about how it happened. By working through these feelings, instead of burying them down, I am in a better place to fully enjoy her.

My sweet Cecelia, although you entered the world in a way that terrified and saddened me, your birth was one of the greatest privileges I have undergone. I feel honored to have carried you and I am elated to care for you now. Being your mom is one of the greatest and sweetest gifts I have ever received. I love you unconditionally.