Cyril's Birth Story and the Year Long Journey to Healing

I had never intended to share the following post, I started writing it the day after Cyril was born just as a way to get my emotions out about the birth because I've always found that when I keep things inside they always get worse, I suppose this was my way to vent privately, to share my sadness by not sharing it. So why am I sharing it now, nearly 5 months later, you might ask? Because my midwife asked me to do a testimonial for her doula website. I was thrilled to write her a testimonial when she asked, even though she was unable to birth my baby because I had a high risk pregnancy and was under obstetrics care.  However, she was there throughout the duration of my pregnancy and the weeks after Cyril was born and she was my saving grace.  I sat down, eager to write it, knowing the words would just spill out about how amazing she was. The trouble was, they didn't spill, in fact I felt like I had writer's block, or perhaps it was an emotional block on the subject. I went to bed saddened that I couldn't formulate a complete thought and then my mind started racing. It went back to the delivery room, those early days, the depression, the failure, the lack of bonding, and all the what ifs came flooding back. What if I could have given birth at the midwife clinic, would I have avoided the epidural and thereby not had a forceps delivery? If I had the holistic natural birth I had planned would I have been in less pain, felt less exhaustion, and therefore gotten off to a better start with breastfeeding?

Below was written the day after Cyril was born:

As I sit down to write this I can't help but have tears welling up in my eyes, are these tears the so called baby blues you get from the hormones surging through your body, or tears of guilt for having to abandon my "perfect" birth plan. I haven't quite sorted this out yet...

As most of you by now know, I was in labour for 35 hours, and at no point was the labour easy. I didn't have pre-labour or Braxton hicks contractions, in fact when I first arrived at hospital Cyril still hadn't engaged in my pelvis. I believe a lot of these factors, combined with it being my first pregnancy, contributed to the length of time in labour.  I had read up on labour and delivery, the pre-, first, transitional, and 2nd stage, the average length of each stage and average length of contractions and all of the coping mechanisms. If I'd followed the average first time mother Cyril should have been delivered and in my arms before I was officially admitted to the delivery suite. However, while most people start off with contractions coming every 5-20 minutes and lasting for 20 seconds, mine were coming every 2-3 minutes and lasting from 30-60 seconds before we even left our house.  So you can understand my shock when we arrived at the hospital after an agonising 90 minute car ride to discover that I was only 1 cm dilated. At this point they admitted me to the pre-natal ward until I was 4 cm dilated. They suggested I go for a walk and get some fresh air to help move things along but every time I stood up another contraction would come and I'd nearly pass out. We decided it was best to walk up and down the halls of the hospital. After another agonising 12 hours of contractions they did an assessment to see how far along I was and after all that work I was only between 1-2 cm dilated, so essentially I hadn't made any progress.  I immediately started sobbing, I should have had my baby in my arms but instead I hadn't even progressed far enough to be admitted to the delivery suite. 

The midwife asked me what I was doing for pain relief and I told her that I was hoping for a natural birth. She looked at me and said "Just because Aunt Mary down the street had a quick first labour with absolutely no drugs shouldn't make you feel pressured into doing the same. Everyone is different. If you came in to have your appendix removed and I told you that the only thing you could have was paracetamol (Tylenol) you'd look at me like I was insane. Now, it's entirely up to you but you're making little progress and not coping well with the pain so I suggest you explore your options."

Well there was morphine, and a whole slew of other drugs I could have started off with first but all of those had an effect on the baby, I asked if the epidural effected the baby and the midwife said no. They were supposed to bring me a pamphlet about it because I had done no research on the matter since I was having a natural birth. The pamphlet never arrived and I was in too much pain to pressure them to bring it to me. They finally decided that they would have to induce me to speed things along, fortunately after 15 hours I was finally dilated enough to be admitted to the delivery suite. There was a room available with a birthing pool, but I'd already been indadvertedly convinced to receive the epidural, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to finally have some proper pain relief because let me tell you, tylenol does nothing when you're in labour. The anaesthesiologist was great, she told me I had the perfect back to administer the epidural, I was relieved because I was petrified of being paralysed for life. They increased the dose and for the first time I felt pure bliss, I was pain free and could actually get some sleep, at this point it was 10pm and I'd been in labour since 2am so was utterly exhausted.

The midwife kept checking my progress at 4 hourly increments, the trouble was there was no progress to speak of despite the fact that I was having strong regular contractions. The decision was made to induce me, which is kind of funny considering I was technically already in labour. They increased the drug used to induce labour and I was thankful at this point that I had an epidural because the contractions were now right on top of one another lasting for 90 seconds. Another 4 hours passed, still only 5 cm. It was now 2 am, I was shaking from the epidural, vomitting, and the midwife just handed me a device to break your water that looked like the longest knitting needle I've ever seen, I nearly passed out, I was petrified of the pain. She assured me I would feel no pain but I wasn't convinced and neither was my body because right then and there my water's broke all on their own, thank god. Another 4 hours passed, it was now 6am, still only 5 cm. They called in the doctor and I knew something was wrong. A few rushed quiet words later and the midwife came over to me. We're going to give you another 4 hours to get to 10cm or you'll be getting rushed in for an emergency caesarian. Normally we would have rushed you in by now but the baby's oxygen and heart rate levels are stable so we'll give you a little bit longer. At this point the epidural had worn off because I'd been in labour for so long. The pain was excruciating, they couldn't top me up because the anaesthesiologist was helping another woman down the hall who was screaming at the top of her lungs and they needed to wait for that lady to calm down so they could put her epidural in. OK, I told myself, you can do this, just like we practiced in those relaxation classes that Sarah led. They handed me the gas and air, and I actually went into a meditative state, albeit a drug induced one. We were at the beach, Hobson, Josh, Cyril and I, all laying down in hammocks, Hobson's was made out of dog bones, the waves were coming in, long perfect A-frame waves and Josh was out surfing as we watched ... I was actually coping just fine during these contractions which were probably the strongest I'd felt. However, the anaesthesiologist finally came in and again I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to get that top up. I was told to sleep. How could I possibly sleep when I might be getting rushed in for a caesarian in 4 hours!?

Then it came, the moment of truth. It was 10 am and they were about to tell me whether or not I had made any progress. I was 10 cm dilated, hallelujah, I could have jumped out of that bed if I had any feeling in my legs. Which brings me to my next point. They don't tell you that because you have no feeling it is nearly impossible to push that baby out. They would give me 2 hours to push him out and then it was either a forceps delivery or a caesarian. There was no way in hell I was going to have a c-section after all the hell I'd been through so I was determined to push. They said I was doing an amazing job, that his head was nearly there, but after 2 hours of pushing, my energy was gone, I was utterly exhausted. The doctor came in and said that I would still need to push for a forceps so if I was too exhausted they had no choice but to admit me to theatre. Forceps delivery it was, I would muster up the strength to get that baby out, and I did. I never looked at the tools used to get Cyril out, and I'll never google them, Josh said it was positively frightening, the longest salad tongs he'd ever seen. I cried because they had to do an episiotomy, basically cut me so that I wouldn't have a really bad tear, I cried because Cyril would be in pain, but mostly I cried because I was doing the complete opposite of what I had wanted. There was nothing natural about this, it was completely out of my control, and here I was signing some form stating that I wouldn't sue if something were to happen to the baby and me. But the chances are low right? What choice did I have, he had to come out. I was confused, depressed, exhausted, and I felt very alone despite the fact that there were probably 20 people in the room frantically running around, putting needles in my arm, lifting my legs up, shoving gas and air down my throat.

So when Cyril finally came out it came as no surprise to me that I felt nothing. I looked over at Josh, he had tears in his eyes, talking to me about how we finally had our baby, how excited he was, how much he loved him already. I kept nodding my head in agreement, but the truth was, I felt none of this. I looked at Cyril and I saw a purple baby, head deformed, face all scrunched up and swollen, and big red marks where the instrument had pulled him out. I felt bad that I had done this to him, but I didn't feel love, I felt nothing for him. I felt utterly alone and exhausted and he wouldn't stop screaming, all I could think was what have we done, put him back inside.

You see know one tells you this stuff, I think people are afraid to share the truth in those moments after birth. Maybe some people do fall in love instantly, the second the baby is born, but I'm sure just as many don't. This is what's wrong with the medical system, they don't want to freak you out, so no one talks about it, it's the same with breastfeeding. They tell you you'll feel pressure but not pain, they don't speak about mastitis, infections, clogged milk ducts, bleeding, cracking, and engorgement. So when all of these things happen to you at once you don't know what's going on, you feel alone, deserted and like a failure. This is how I felt, in my mind I failed at birth and I failed at feeding my child and I constantly felt like I had to make excuses for my decisions. I guess I'm sharing this because I want those who are pregnant, or have recently given birth to know that you're not alone and you're not the only one who has made excuses for their actions. I still find myself making excuses for why I'm not breastfeeding. I know I shouldn't, Cyril's never even been sick and he's been thriving from the beginning but a part of me will always feel like a failure for the way he entered the world and during those early weeks and that's OK. In my mind everything happens for a reason, that reason isn't apparent at the moment but in the future I'll look back at my decisions and know that there was a reason for them and then I won't feel like I have to make excuses anymore.

As most of you can tell this post was written in stages, the first part when Cyril was 5 months old, the actual birth story the day after he was born, and this last paragraph nearly 12 months later. It's been written like this because it never felt right to publish it. Josh told me I would know when the time was right and for some reason, as I anxiously prepare for Cyril's first birthday, fighting back the tears because he's growing up too quickly, this feels like the right time.

It's the right time because I've finally healed. When I scoop formula into his bottle and mix it with cows milk to transition him to his next stage of life I feel no guilt about not breastfeeding. When I sat down at the maternity committee meeting this week, and the girl across from me asked why people elect to have epidurals because she couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to experience the birth of your baby, I felt no guilt about my birth, or the early days after Cyril was born because as I sat there, Cyril crawling on the floor laughing his head off, I realised that I may not be the best mother in the world, far from it in fact, but I'm the best mother that Cyril will ever have and you know what, that's good enough for me.