This House is Clear: The Healing Process of my Second C-Section

Okay, so, never in a million years did I ever think that I would be writing that having a second C-section would be a healing process, but… here I am.

I remember before my son was born, sitting in child-birthing classes wondering about the journey that I and my husband would soon be going on. Words were flying around my head on a daily basis, words like dilate, efface and crowning. My husband was getting really good at lower back massage, just in case I was to have back labor, as my mother had. We were doing breathing techniques, studying about water birth and even had a bible for a birth plan all typed out. Side note: I heard a lot of the nurses at the hospital say that those million page birth plans we all take hours to write out are the fodder for jokes back at the nurses station.

But, all of those classes and massages, all of the planning and typing, was for nothing. At 37 weeks of pregnancy, my son came into the world through c-section. It was not in the birth plan. It was not something that Andy and I had taken classes for. It just was. My son came and my body wasn’t ready for him to come. I never went into labor and due to a series of strange medical circumstances, it was deemed that my son needed to come out via “the escape hatch”.

Then something happened, I grieved. It was almost as if I should have had a burial plot and casket for my birth plan. I felt like wearing a black arm band for the first weeks of his life. Where had my beautiful moment gone? Where had that moment of him laying on my chest looking up at me gone? Where had the pain of labor and then the rush of love gone? It was never there and I felt cheated to say the least.

Bonding with my son took longer. I felt that I didn’t have the instant connection that I had been promised would happen during childbirth classes. Breast feeding was even more of a nightmare as my milk seemed to be on the same schedule as the rest of my body. Where did this tiny human come from? He’s not supposed to be here for another couple of weeks. It was horrible and I felt like a horrible mother for feeling so ambivalent towards my newborn.

But then one day, I remember looking down at that little baby and thinking that I would gladly walk through fire for him. It’s funny how different love can hit you, even for your children.

This July, Andy and I found out we were expecting our daughter. I was so excited. Our family would be complete and I would get to have my dream birth, VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) style. I read and studied, once again and got my hopes up. I would finally get to heal, I would finally get to end the chapter on my son’s birth.

42 weeks pregnant, Not dilated in the slightest. An ultrasound reveals that my daughter is turned the complete wrong way and my ob/gyn fears that, if I am induced, my old c-section scar will open before my cervix does.

“Let’s just do another c-section.” The words are coming out of my mouth. What am I saying? C-section? Am I really ready to cover the mirrors of my house and dust off my black arm band? Yes.

I think about my son and how wonderful he is. He was worth the grieving and the patience with my body. He was worth all of it and more and so is this little girl. The c-section is scheduled and off I go.

Sometimes the world stops, reader. Sometimes it stops and you can hear every sound around grow silent except for the sound of your own breath. That was what it felt like for me in that O.R. when my daughter was placed on my chest and I heard her cry for the first time.

I was in love. That moment that I had heard other mothers talk about was happening to me. We were magnets the two of us, destined to be together as my son and I were. They placed her on my chest and I never wanted her to move from my chest again. I had healed.

In that O.R. the crushing truth hit me. We have dreams for our children, dreams about their future and even about how they come into this world. We dream about grandchildren and weddings, family photos taken at lakes and campfires. But what about that first dream, the dream of them. The dream of becoming parents and loving something so much more than we could ever love ourselves. That’s the dream that we really need to hold onto, the rest is just immaterial.

And the black arm band and casket? Never took them out. I don’t have enough time to take a shower these days, let alone plan an entire funeral.