Joining the Sisterhood
ALMOST DONE: One week before the birth.
It’s now been seven weeks since I gave birth to our baby girl. Given that I’ve always made my way through life’s most challenging experiences by writing about them, I had a fantasy that I would keep blogging right through the birth, perhaps even more often than I had been before. I would take some time out during labor to blog. Or, at the very least, I’d capture something about this, one of the most intense experiences of my life, by writing something within the first 24 hours after the birth. One of my favorite journalism professors taught me that the best time to write your story is…as soon as you walk in the door. You start writing when you’re fresh from the field, with everything crisp and colorful in your mind.
And after all, this is 2012. I had my laptop tucked into my hospital bag, and I could have blogged from my iPhone. The delivery room is perhaps a place where one needs to disconnect with the immediate world, but after giving birth, the maternity ward is wireless. There is no reason why I couldn’t, shouldn’t blog.
But the reality of being a mother of a newborn baby burst my bubble, breaking apart the unrealistic expectations I had for myself. I should have known that the arrival of a second baby is no less all-encompassing and energy-absorbing than the first one, and that thoughts of blogging would quickly slip into the “nice but not necessary” category.
Much more than this, I think one of the reasons I was reluctant to write was that I wasn’t sure what I felt comfortable sharing. I’d already written in the past that I, along with many women in Primigravida’s target demographic, had an unplanned/emergency C-section in my first birth. In a previous post I tried to explore why this has become such a prevalent phenomena among mothers in my age bracket. While I’d rather not get into a replay of that first birth, I’ll recap by saying that it was a traumatic experience I didn’t want to repeat. To avoid a déjà vu, it seemed I’d best schedule the C-section ahead of time and save myself the drama and disappointment when the “inevitable” happened and I was told I’d need another surgical delivery.
In short, I spent my entire second pregnancy trying to decide if I should try for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-section) and at one point was convinced it wasn’t worth the risk – including a 0.5 percent chance of uterine rupture, which can be fatal for mother or baby. I spoke at length to friends who’d successfully had VBACs, friends who’d tried for a VBAC and wound up requiring another C-section (some of them at peace with this outcome and many others not), and friends who’d opted for a scheduled C the second time around.
Somehow, after hours of research, conversations with several doulas and midwives and doctors – one of whom advised me to just schedule a C-section based on the fact that at my age I probably wouldn’t be contemplating many more pregnancies anyway – I became convinced that trying for a VBAC was the wiser choice. To not at least try for a natural birth would be something of a cop-out, according to the midwife I wound up hiring as my birth coach.
When I told her at our initial meeting that I wasn’t even sure I wanted a VBAC, given the added risks, she looked at me like I’d just offered our toddler crack cocaine. “How would you feel in 20 years if you didn’t at least try?!” she challenged. In 20 years I doubt the thought will cross my mind, and by then I’ll have more important parental muck-ups to worry about other than how I brought my children into the world.
But still, if I could avoid major abdominal surgery, shouldn’t I? Repeat C-sections are not ideal and carry their own risks. I came up with a dozen or so other reasons why it was worth a shot, but the most prominent of all was the thought of a shorter recovery. I dreaded being forbidden from picking up our 18-month-old son because of the surgery. This thought alone felt compelling enough to give the VBAC a go.
And so it went, somehow. I gave birth “the way it should be” as my massage therapist put it when she tried to ease my aching body two weeks later. Her words made me cringe. Just as I’d despised the implied failure the first time around – particularly from women who tut-tutted about the high C-section rate and bragged about their bevy of beautiful home births – I feel uncomfortable with the kudos this time. A friend of mine due around the same time as me, also trying for a VBAC, said she wanted to do it so could “join the sisterhood.” As if a Caesarean birth means we don’t really earn entrance to some international sisterhood of women who gave birth the old-fashioned way. Or that birthing vaginally (ideally with no pain relief) makes you a stronger woman or a better mother. I’m not so sure. On second thought, I’m sure that’s nonsense.
I almost bought into the same self-denigrating scheme because my daughter’s birth required vacuum assistance, and my birth coach implied it was all my fault – my pushing wasn’t good enough. Sure, I’d had my VBAC and earned my stripes, but I still had plenty of pain afterwards. Moreover, I still had some of the same feelings of inadequacy that plagued me after the C-section.
The last hour of the birth was miserable, but the first hour of my daughter's life was magical.
But there were amazing things about the birth. Foremost among them was that I got to hold the baby just after she was born and nurse her – a dream I’d had last time but hadn’t been able to fulfill. I was put under full anesthetic in my son’s birth and only got to hold him for the first time about four hours later, groggy and upset. This time, since the ward upstairs didn’t have a room ready for me yet, my husband, the baby and I got to spend the next 2.5 hours exactly where I’d given birth – hanging out, getting to know each other, and trying to absorb the shock and awe of it all. Those moments were magical.
Four days later, I was in so much pain I wondered why I didn’t just have the damn C-section. But seven weeks later, I can acknowledge that the recovery process was indeed much smoother and more rapid.
Baby Z's first picnic
I still feel like I didn’t get to join that other, more exclusive sisterhood – the one for women who have amazing, empowering, beautiful birth experiences. I bless its members, but to pretend that I truly deserve membership among them would be a lie. I read with envy the birth story of a friend who gave birth about a week after I did in a birthing center in New York. She felt no fear, and in the final stages of the birth she felt no pain, even though she’d had no epidural or other drugs. For those of us whose experiences are so radically different, our task is to accept what was – and to focus on the miracle and the honor of getting to bring a new life into the world.
What’s more, the real sisterhood of mothers worth belonging to includes those who became mothers in other ways – by adoption, via marriage to someone who already had children, through surrogacy. As my wise friend Sandra pointed out to me recently, getting too hung up on the kind of birth you have is a mistake similar to putting all of your energy into the wedding – rather than the marriage. It’s what comes after the big event that truly counts.
mazaltov mama! i join you in the sisterhood of ‘ugh-i-hate-these-expectations-of-having-a-blissful-birth-experience’. big hug!
I’ve had two C-sections. I don’t have a problem with women making a decision that they want to have a vaginal birth, but I don’t understand why women (who usually fall into the crunch-granola category) think it’s acceptable to be critical of other women for choosing a C-section, epidural, whatever. All birth is “natural” (you are not giving birth in a petrie dish, are you?) and the important point is to get the baby out in the healthiest way possible and to protect the mother’s health. I’m never going to have a vaginal birth and, frankly, I don’t much care. What does bother me is when women who make informed choices are denigrated by other women. Ugh. They’ll also tell you that formula is junk food and you’re doing irreparable harm to your baby if you give formula. So much for being supportive doulas, birth coaches, whatever.
It’s important to trust your own instincts and your doctor, too. I decided early on I would do what was best for my babies – in the event, an emergency C-section for my preemie twins. My only thought afterwards was relief at their Apgar scores – 9, 9 for both. Great post!
I really think that once the baby is born and your holding him and her that other stuff doesn’t matter. Every mom has a story to tell, I had three children and three different deliveries.
Amen, sister. How we nurture and love and rear our children is so much more important than how our birth experiences unfold.
Also: kol hakavod to y’all for doing this again! May these early months be sweet, and may you get sleep, somehow, magically, with God’s help.
Happy day, Ilene. Now that you got that out of your notebook, enjoy that baby girl. As a senior alum of the VBWEAF (vaginal birth with epidural and forceps) club, as long as you and Z are healthy, that’s all that really counts,right? YOu did great, girl. Mazel tov to you and yours. Ann
This is such an interesting issue that I wish women discussed more (and were able to do so without feelings of guilt and defensiveness- no easy task). I think the reason why it’s hard to talk about is that it DOES matter. As someone who really wanted a natural childbirth and then had one, I hate to hear women say it doesn’t matter how your baby arrives in the world. There is so much that is out of our control about birth but at the same time, there are often many things that ARE up to us. I worked so hard for my birth, both physically and mentally and both leading up to it and during labor. And it changed me. Just the way I am sure that ANY birth experience changes a woman. But don’t fall into the patriarchal trap of modern medicine’s meddling and say the way we give birth is irrelevant. I find that there’s a taboo among women about talking about their natural childbirths, especially in the company of women who had interventions. I think it’s my right and responsibility to own my birth experience and talk about what it was really like. I think that is the right and responsibility of ALL mothers. None of us wants to be made into an invisible, irrelevant part of this powerful process. It’s dangerous and tragic when we allow doctors (and even other women) to treat birth like a procedure. All of us deserve to feel birth as a rite of passage, no matter how it happened.
Here is part of my reply to Julie: I wanted to say that I certainly don’t argue that how you give birth is irrelevant. But I do think that women who give birth with medical assistance, either because they choose to or because they have to, should not be made to feel that they failed or gave into the whims of the hospital staff. C-section rates are high, everyone is questioning why that is and deeming them unnecessary, and if you end up with one, it’s as if you need to explain it/excuse it among the natural birth advocates, some of whom assume every birth could have been as beautiful and problem-free as theirs. With my son I had an emergency c-section after 14 hours of labor and he came out with an extremely low APGAR, which was an indication that he was in fact in distress and probably would have wound up with Cerebral Palsy or worse (I shudder to think of it) had they not gotten him out soon. If you don’t know anyone who lost a baby in or immediately after childbirth, this may sound alarmist or extremely rare, but I personally know two people who lost babies this way, so I think that medical emergencies in childbirth do happen and are nothing to mess around with…and therefore I don’t look at modern medicine as solely patriarchal and meddling, as you put it. Sometimes it *is* meddling. But it is also a blessing to have as a back-up or as a complement to natural birthing methods.
You’re right to emphasize the baby over the method. And you’re in the sisterhood – you were pregnant and delivered a baby, and as you point out, are raising children, which is by far the best and most important part.
Of course I totally agree that medical interventions are sometimes completely necessary and save lives. I didn’t mean to come off sounding “anti medicine”. However, the missing piece when doctors intervene is an acknowledgement that something was lost. I realize I am putting myself out there by saying this out loud. But I think it would be better for mothers if we could recognize that the baby, the birth, and the mother are not separate. I don’t agree with the idea that somehow I chose a natural birth just so I could have bragging rights. Just like any other mother, I wanted a natural birth because I felt it was the best way to take care of my child. If my child had been in distress during labor, for sure I would’ve wanted whatever medical intervention was necessary. It is the idea that somehow the process by which we enter motherhood is irrelevant that I find to be patronizing and frankly, male. I wish women wouldn’t keep repeating what their doctors tell them. It matters. For your health, your child’s health and all the psychological underpinnings. When birth is medicalized, this process is interrupted. Perhaps for very good reason! Of course, the health of the child comes first. But give yourself the respect you deserve as a mother, no matter how your child came into the world. Honor the sacrifice and strength you showed! Sometimes it feels like a competition- who had the “best” birth. When I hear people say it doesn’t matter how it happen it often sounds like sour grapes. There are things I wish went differently about my birth too. But there’s only a certain amount that’s up to us. I aim to be proud of the parts I could control and to accept with humility the parts I couldn’t. In the end, it was OUR birth process and I cherish it for that alone.