My Birth Story – Part 2 

As I am being wheeled to the OR, the anesthesiologist is running alongside of my bed firing rapid questions at me like a scene out of Grey’s Anatomy.

Time was of the essence, and he was doing the best he could to not waste any. 

Part of the reason I didn’t want an epidural was because I have a 45 degree scoliosis curve. My spine literally looks like an S and even the most experienced doctors will have a hard time getting an epidural in. 

Let alone under pressure and a fatal time clock that is running out. 

It took him 4 PAINFUL attempts before he finally got the epidural in. 

When you are in the OR, things move fast. I remember blue hospital gowns and masks. I remember my beautiful doctor talking me through everything she was doing. I remember feeling pressure like someone was running their finger along the bottom of my abdomen, and knowing it was a knife slicing me open. 

I remember there were medical students who wanted to watch, but it was in my birth plan to not allow that. I wanted privacy. I remember my nurse, Janice, who had been by my side since the moment we checked in, firmly telling them no for me. “She’s been through enough, let her have peace please,” I hear her say. 

I remember feeling like it took an eternity to hear him cry, and patiently wait for them to place him on my chest. I remember my husband asking 100 questions and leaving my side to watch them put all my organs back inside my belly, and count their instruments before stapling me shut. 

I love you from the inside out, literally, he said. 

And then I saw him. My baby. My sweet, sweet baby was safe and earthside.

They placed him on my chest and I remember being in awe of everything about him. 

By the time we were wheeled back to our room, my family had arrived. I cannot imagine the fear and uncertainty they must have felt driving, after they received that call from my husband. 

But now, now all we all felt was gratitude and euphoria. 

Antonio latched immediately for breastfeeding, and I feel like it was the Universe’s way of giving me a small gift after all that trauma. I also realize now looking back, that I refused to pump and give him a bottle, because I didn’t want something else taken from me. 

I exclusively breastfed for 19 months. 

I firmly believe that one of the reasons Antonio and I are extremely close and bonded, is because we both fought for our lives that day. It’s unfathomable to imagine a world without either of us in it. 

However, I would be lying if I said that experience didn’t haunt me. There was a period of time where I feared I would die and someone else would raise my son. 

Thank God for my therapist. 

Today, I am proud of my cesarean scar. It doesn’t bother me one bit, and I must say my beautiful doctor did an incredible job. When I look at it, I am reminded of the day God showed me just how strong I am, physically, emotionally and mentally. 

Life is a miracle. Each breathe is a miracle. 

Share with me! Did you have a traumatic birth story? Almost four years later, writing this still makes me cry. I don’t think we as women are allowed time to heal from a traumatic birth when we are immediately shoved into motherhood, caring for and feeding our newborns, while trying to heal from a massive surgery.