LIFE
Birth Plans Are Pointless
We are not in control
I remember driving to the drugstore to get the pregnancy test. I remember seeing the two lines and opening the instructions to double-check what the two lines meant — two lines mean positive. I remember pacing up and down waiting for my husband to get home to tell him the news and being annoyed at myself for not waiting until he got home to do the test in the first place so we could find out together. I remember my due date coming. I remember my due date passing. I remember being in the hospital connected to the CTG machine. I remember the doctors and the midwife looking worried. I remember the doctors explaining what an emergency C-section means. I remember crying while being wheeled into the operating room. I remember the doctor saying he was going to put me to sleep. I remember feeling shocked and panicked. I remember the last thing I saw was the doctor’s face upside down. I remember waking up and being wheeled through a room. I remember seeing my husband holding what looked like a bundled-up towel with the tiniest feet poking through to his bare chest. I remember asking him if it was a boy or a girl as they were wheeling me away. I don’t remember what he replied.
“What’s your birth plan?” I got so annoyed when people asked me that question. “My plan is to give birth, what more of a plan than that do I need?” then came the list of considerations; natural birth in a hospital? which hospital? home birth? water birth? epidural? with a doula? etc.
At some point, I decided to make a plan so that I didn’t seem clueless and unprepared when people asked. I wanted a drug-free, natural birth in a small hospital with a midwife. I did a two-month pregnancy yoga course, a birth preparation course and followed some pages online to master the art and wonder of giving birth. My husband and I practiced my breathing exercises, hand squeezes, and yoga poses. I took care to massage my perineum every evening to get the vag as elastic as possible. I was doing everything right. I had to do everything right, this little human was depending on me.
We toured two hospitals. Each time we had to meet with the anesthesiologist to sign paperwork consenting to have anesthesia — both an epidural and general. The doctor said,
“It’s just in case of an emergency. During labor, there’s no time to discuss all the implications.”
I zoned out when the doctor started explaining the procedure and the risks, but I remember saying to my husband how horrible it would be to have a baby under general anesthesia. I signed the consent forms after skimming through the pages, I didn’t need to read the details because I had done my birth plan, so, of course, things would go according to my birth plan — natural and drug-free because that’s how I planned it. But things didn’t go according to plan, the birth of my son was not “natural” and my body was full of drugs.
I had my baby under general anesthesia. I was disappointed when the doctor told me we would need to have a C-section but I felt reassured that my husband would be there with me and that I would be conscious and still have the chance to welcome my baby into the world. I was told about the decision to use general anesthesia in what felt like seconds before I was put to sleep. I was put to sleep pregnant and I woke up… not pregnant. I still struggle to describe the feeling of finally waking up to my full senses in the maternity ward of the hospital hearing mommies walk around with their crying babies in the hallway, being in absolute pain from the surgery of the night before, and not having my baby. As soon as my baby was born he was taken to a children’s hospital 25km (about 15 miles) away. Every moment I was conscious after the birth, thoughts of him consumed me. Was I even really pregnant in the first place? Is my baby alive? What if he gets mixed up with someone else’s baby? Will he know who I am?
During my pregnancy, I thought having contractions and pushing the baby out formed the foundation of the bond between mother and child. The moms put in the work, endure the pain and cope with the emotions of delivering a baby, it’s the rite of passage for all mothers — right? After nine months of taking care of the life growing inside, giving birth would be the time to witness the magic, the ultimate cooperation between momma and baby. I thought of it as a journey together to be together. I’m a mom who was pregnant for nine months and I don’t know what it’s like to give birth to a baby. I never even had a contraction. I felt ashamed. I felt like a failure. I felt angry. I felt cheated. Everything I had been preparing for; holding him for the first time, his naked body on my bare chest, the euphoria that comes with the new baby smell, and hearing his first cries, all of that was taken from me.
The day after the surgery, I was bleeding heavily, my throat was dry, and I was exhausted. I could hardly walk much less bend my body to sit in a chair. I decided that I was going to the children’s hospital to meet my baby. I carefully put on my coat, very slowly so that I didn’t snag the cannula. I hobbled to the nurse’s station, walking as if I had just had my body cut open, a baby taken out, and then stitched back together.
I said, “I’ll be back later.” They tried to stop me, but I think they felt sorry for me, so they just said “Please take care.”
My husband picked me up at the front of the hospital and it took us about three minutes to get me seated in the car. I think I can tell the exact number of stones the car ran over from my hospital to the children’s hospital because I felt every single bump. The pain was excruciating, but I didn’t care. It was my punishment and my penance for failing.
The first time I saw my baby, I didn’t feel anything. I was staring at a baby they SAID was mine, but I didn’t FEEL like he was mine. I didn’t feel like I had any connection with this person. He was in the hospital for four days. The first day in an incubator, I couldn’t touch him. He was so weak and his eyes were closed. I traveled from my hospital to his every day. On the third day, the nurse took him out of the incubator and said I could hold him. I took off my shirt and I held him to my chest. When I held him to my chest, he opened his eyes and he started moving his head towards my breast. I felt like he knew I was his momma. In this small moment, which I remember as vividly as ever, I connected with him as my own.
Now when I think about my son’s birth story, I feel an overwhelming connection to him. He and I did have our journey together to be together but in our own special way. We had a unique meeting, which has bonded us as momma and baby. I was fooled into thinking that mommas need to have a “natural” birth to bond with their babies. Just as mommas who use surrogates and mommas who adopt can love their babies just as much as mommas who birth their own. We can bond with our babies in different ways and at different times. My love for my son wasn’t love at first sight as I had always imagined it would be. We had our moment later but it didn’t diminish our love.
His birth story is like a picture in a frame. My plan was the frame. A frame isn’t necessary for some but may be important to others. A frame can enhance/distract/detract. A frame can change, but in the end the picture remains what it is. After putting things into perspective, I’m reminded to focus on the picture and not the frame.
