C-sections happen. Yes, too many happen but some are needed. Many women have negative stories to tell, and there are some, like me, who have good stories. C-sections don't have to be scary, or horrific or damaging. If yours was, seek help. Express those thoughts so that you can heal. Here are some places that can help.
Cesarean Scar by the NavelGazing Midwife
She is highlighting the scars and their stories. I have submitted mine.
The Shape of a Mother
Real women have real bodies. Stretch marks. C-section scars. Here you will find women of all shapes and sizes and with all sorts of stories you can relate to.
Nine Months and Beyond
If you are in the Nashville area, check these women out. They are wonderful and supportive during and after birth. They offer doulas, birthing classes, birthing tubs, lactation consultants, pump rental and more.
No matter if you had a c-section or not, you are still a mother. You are still a strong and brave woman. Why? Because you created a person, you gave birth. Don't forget that.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
My C-Section Scar
My c-section scar doesn't really bother me. It's low, near my pubic bone and very few people are every likely to see it. I don't think it bothers my husband. It simply joins the three smaller appendectomy scars that I have on my abdomen as well.
Every now and again I wonder what some stranger would think of it. Would it make me less attractive in their eyes? Would they find it off putting? Does it make me less sexy?
My c-section scar is 5.5 inches long. To think, an ENTIRE human being came out of that one spot. An entire human being that weighed 7 lbs 5 oz and was 19.5 inches long. Knowing where nature intended for him to emerge, it shouldn't be that amazing to me, but it still is.
I often think of the bumper sticker I once saw: Scars are tattoos with better stories.
I don't think my scar mars me or makes me less beautiful. It reminds me that I am alive, that my son is alive. I will forever carry the mark of my love for him on my body. Different than stretch marks, this one is deliberate, is more precise than the movement of my body stretching around the existence of a human being.
Sometimes my scar catches my eye and makes me worry. I think that is the nature of a woman. I also know that years from now it will catch my eye, when my son has long moved out of my house and is living his life, and that scar will cause me to smile and trace it gently, with love in my heart and a smile on my face.
Every now and again I wonder what some stranger would think of it. Would it make me less attractive in their eyes? Would they find it off putting? Does it make me less sexy?
My c-section scar is 5.5 inches long. To think, an ENTIRE human being came out of that one spot. An entire human being that weighed 7 lbs 5 oz and was 19.5 inches long. Knowing where nature intended for him to emerge, it shouldn't be that amazing to me, but it still is.
I often think of the bumper sticker I once saw: Scars are tattoos with better stories.
I don't think my scar mars me or makes me less beautiful. It reminds me that I am alive, that my son is alive. I will forever carry the mark of my love for him on my body. Different than stretch marks, this one is deliberate, is more precise than the movement of my body stretching around the existence of a human being.
Sometimes my scar catches my eye and makes me worry. I think that is the nature of a woman. I also know that years from now it will catch my eye, when my son has long moved out of my house and is living his life, and that scar will cause me to smile and trace it gently, with love in my heart and a smile on my face.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Did I Say That?
We took Ian to Mass for the first time on Saturday night. I took juice, snacks, toys, etc to try and entertain him. He has not learned inside voice yet.
We feed him these organic puffs and they have saved our sanity more than once. So it's about 10 minutes before Mass starts. He decides to reach into the container and root around with his hand in the puffs.
"Don't eat all the popcorn before the movie starts." I find coming out of my mouth.
My husband laughs and shakes his head.
I think I need a keeper.
We feed him these organic puffs and they have saved our sanity more than once. So it's about 10 minutes before Mass starts. He decides to reach into the container and root around with his hand in the puffs.
"Don't eat all the popcorn before the movie starts." I find coming out of my mouth.
My husband laughs and shakes his head.
I think I need a keeper.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Dear Ian:
Your baby skin is so soft. Yesterday, as I was feeding you breakfast, I stroked your little cheek and was struck at how soft and smooth your skin is. You had just woken up and your cheeks were still flushed from sleep. Then I had to look at and touch your fat little wrists and your fat litte feet. Even your cute little baby butt is dimply but so soft to the touch.
As you grow, I will miss your chubby little baby parts and cuddling your soft baby skin. I wish I could capture the feeling of touch in a jar so that I can relive the softness of your baby self even when you are twenty.
As you grow, I will miss your chubby little baby parts and cuddling your soft baby skin. I wish I could capture the feeling of touch in a jar so that I can relive the softness of your baby self even when you are twenty.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Isn't He Sweet?
My husband, not known for his romantic gestures, did really well this year. We had our 6 year anniversary in March.
The present came last night. He knows I love subtlety and symbolism. The sixth year anniversary gift is iron. And the sixth year anniversary flower is the calla lily. Here's what he found:
It's a tea light candle holder made of iron and the flowers are calla lillies!! See how awesome he was with this gift?
And if you count, there are 6 large calla lily blooms!!!
Great job, baby!!
The present came last night. He knows I love subtlety and symbolism. The sixth year anniversary gift is iron. And the sixth year anniversary flower is the calla lily. Here's what he found:
And if you count, there are 6 large calla lily blooms!!!
Great job, baby!!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Breastfeeding Rocks!
Fact based article about the cost savings and most importantly the health benefits of breastfeeding babies for longer than six months.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iSqQIAfvagnz1Gvbnz2bzX8V7e8wD9ESM2TO2
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iSqQIAfvagnz1Gvbnz2bzX8V7e8wD9ESM2TO2
Friday, April 2, 2010
April is Cesaran Awareness Month
This post may be a little on the long side, for which I will apologize upfront, however this is a subject which I find myself to be very passionate about.
I had a c-section in February 2009. Traditional: I chose an OB and planned to birth in a hospital. Nontraditional: I had a doula and chose Hypnobabies as my birthing class/method. I did plan to birth at home as long as possible and only arrive at the hospital when it was time to push. I had a written birth plan with minimal intervention that had been thoroughly discussed with my doctor.
My birthing waves started in the evening on Tuesday. By Wednesday morning we called in our doula Sarah and thought we were going to have a baby. Birthing waves slowed down and stopped by 3 pm. Sarah went home and JP and I settled down to wait out the night. Thursday he went to work and I stayed at home napping and keeping hydrated.
Friday morning and I wanted to see my OB. We called his office and they told us to go straight to the hospital. By this point I had been in my birthing time off and on for 2.5 days. It was all back labor too. I was getting tired. Hypnobabies had served me well but I was worn down and decided on the epidural.
Nurses came in to ask questions and strap me to the fetal monitor. Baby is fine, I'm fine; my blood pressure is slightly elevated and up until this point my blood pressure had stayed at a cool 110/70 throughout my pregnancy.
Nurse checks me and is surprised. I am 8 cm and 100% effaced!! I was so surprised. She was even more surprised. We called Sarah to tell her this was the real thing. Nurses scrambled to get the epidural in me since I was getting to the point of no return. They gave me the initial shot but didn't hook me up to the pump. Which was fine with me. I really just needed something to take the edge off.
Doctor comes, checks me and says it's time to start pushing. With my husband, my mother and my doula at my side, I push for close to 2 hours. Doctor comes to check me. He is not a small man and he shows me how far inside my baby's head still is based on how far inside he has to reach. I had already been offered pitocin twice, which I declined and the nurses accepted without argument or pressure otherwise.
The doctor sits down and starts to discuss my options. He tells me I can continue to push. He tells me we can try the vacuum, though the baby's head is was a little farther in than he likes to use with a vacuum. He tells me I can have a c-section.
I look at my husband. I look at my doula. No judgements, simply acceptance of my choice on their faces. I knew the choice was mine and mine alone in that moment. I looked at my doctor. "Cut me open," I said.
My husband and doula came into the OR room with me. I got to listen to my Hypnobabies relaxation music as my son was brought forth from my body.
My son emerged covered in meconium and with difficulty breathing. He was exhausted from the birthing process as well. He had to be taken to the NICU and intubated. Luckily that was removed less than an hour later and he was fine.
Did I make the right choice? Yes, I did. No doubts, no questions, no regrets.
The next day my doctor told me that I had been his toughest birth in 3 weeks and he had birthed calves. (Yes,as in what cows give birth to.) My son and I both tried our damnedest to get him out vaginally. So much so that his head was wedged into my pelvic bone and the doctor (once again, who is not a small man and is built like a football linebacker) was leaning into my shoulder through the drape as he freed my son from my body.
One hundred years ago, and perhaps even as few as fifty years ago, my son and I would both likely have been dead without the intervention of a c-section.
I know that there are a lot of women who feel discouraged, depressed, disgruntled, damaged, minimalized, angry and hurt that they were not able to give birth vaginally. I do not want to demean, dismiss or diminish the feelings of those women, only tell my story from my eyes and my situation.
I DID NOT FAIL. It irritates me that women feel that to have a c-section is to fail to give birth. I did give birth to my child. I grew him, I labored with him, I brought him forth from the fruit of my womb. I did not fail.
I don't want to debate about the topic, however, honest discussion is fine. I do agree that there are too many c-sections being performed than are medically necessary. I simply do not feel that a c-section has to equal negativity, dissatisfaction with the birthing process, or a feeling of having lost something.
I did not fail. I gave birth. I had a c-section.
(more to follow on this topic during the month)
I had a c-section in February 2009. Traditional: I chose an OB and planned to birth in a hospital. Nontraditional: I had a doula and chose Hypnobabies as my birthing class/method. I did plan to birth at home as long as possible and only arrive at the hospital when it was time to push. I had a written birth plan with minimal intervention that had been thoroughly discussed with my doctor.
My birthing waves started in the evening on Tuesday. By Wednesday morning we called in our doula Sarah and thought we were going to have a baby. Birthing waves slowed down and stopped by 3 pm. Sarah went home and JP and I settled down to wait out the night. Thursday he went to work and I stayed at home napping and keeping hydrated.
Friday morning and I wanted to see my OB. We called his office and they told us to go straight to the hospital. By this point I had been in my birthing time off and on for 2.5 days. It was all back labor too. I was getting tired. Hypnobabies had served me well but I was worn down and decided on the epidural.
Nurses came in to ask questions and strap me to the fetal monitor. Baby is fine, I'm fine; my blood pressure is slightly elevated and up until this point my blood pressure had stayed at a cool 110/70 throughout my pregnancy.
Nurse checks me and is surprised. I am 8 cm and 100% effaced!! I was so surprised. She was even more surprised. We called Sarah to tell her this was the real thing. Nurses scrambled to get the epidural in me since I was getting to the point of no return. They gave me the initial shot but didn't hook me up to the pump. Which was fine with me. I really just needed something to take the edge off.
Doctor comes, checks me and says it's time to start pushing. With my husband, my mother and my doula at my side, I push for close to 2 hours. Doctor comes to check me. He is not a small man and he shows me how far inside my baby's head still is based on how far inside he has to reach. I had already been offered pitocin twice, which I declined and the nurses accepted without argument or pressure otherwise.
The doctor sits down and starts to discuss my options. He tells me I can continue to push. He tells me we can try the vacuum, though the baby's head is was a little farther in than he likes to use with a vacuum. He tells me I can have a c-section.
I look at my husband. I look at my doula. No judgements, simply acceptance of my choice on their faces. I knew the choice was mine and mine alone in that moment. I looked at my doctor. "Cut me open," I said.
My husband and doula came into the OR room with me. I got to listen to my Hypnobabies relaxation music as my son was brought forth from my body.
My son emerged covered in meconium and with difficulty breathing. He was exhausted from the birthing process as well. He had to be taken to the NICU and intubated. Luckily that was removed less than an hour later and he was fine.
Did I make the right choice? Yes, I did. No doubts, no questions, no regrets.
The next day my doctor told me that I had been his toughest birth in 3 weeks and he had birthed calves. (Yes,as in what cows give birth to.) My son and I both tried our damnedest to get him out vaginally. So much so that his head was wedged into my pelvic bone and the doctor (once again, who is not a small man and is built like a football linebacker) was leaning into my shoulder through the drape as he freed my son from my body.
One hundred years ago, and perhaps even as few as fifty years ago, my son and I would both likely have been dead without the intervention of a c-section.
I know that there are a lot of women who feel discouraged, depressed, disgruntled, damaged, minimalized, angry and hurt that they were not able to give birth vaginally. I do not want to demean, dismiss or diminish the feelings of those women, only tell my story from my eyes and my situation.
I DID NOT FAIL. It irritates me that women feel that to have a c-section is to fail to give birth. I did give birth to my child. I grew him, I labored with him, I brought him forth from the fruit of my womb. I did not fail.
I don't want to debate about the topic, however, honest discussion is fine. I do agree that there are too many c-sections being performed than are medically necessary. I simply do not feel that a c-section has to equal negativity, dissatisfaction with the birthing process, or a feeling of having lost something.
I did not fail. I gave birth. I had a c-section.
(more to follow on this topic during the month)
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