The story of my first caesarean isn't particularly dramatic, but it is mine. If I was writing this story 2 years ago, it would probably be a bit different. But now, knowing what I do, I see things in a new light.
My first pregnancy was amazing. I loved every single minute of it. Sure there were things that were slightly less than pleasant; some mild morning sickness, rib pain, difficulty getting comfortable and all that jazz, but I was so in awe of what was happening that those things were barely bothersome. I loved watching my belly grow, talking about baby names, buying bits and peices and wondering whether we were having a boy or a girl.
I never once imagined myself having a caesarean. I was young, slightly overweight but not too significant, not amazingly fit either but fit enough. I just never imagined being cut open to have my baby delivered. Now, I can't say that I really thought much about labour either. I knew what it was, how it worked and all that, but I never wrote a birth plan. I figured I'd just let things happen. The midwives at the hospital would be able to talk me through it. I packed my hospital bag at 35 weeks complete with things I thought I might want in labour. I unpacked and repacked that bag several times over the following weeks.
I went for all my appointments. No concerns. At 36 weeks, the appointments became weekly. Still, throughout my whole pregnancy, I had not seen the same midwife twice. I had a different midwife each appointment. At 38 weeks, 5 days I saw a midwife named Rebecca. She was the same age as I was and we had a nice little chat. She said she wasn't 100% sure about bub's position but had a good feel and declared "head down and engaged". She was a bit unsure at first whether she couldn't find the head because bubs was breech or because bubs was so far engaged. She decided it was the latter.
That's the first time I'd been let down by the hospital staff.
The following week, I saw Rebecca again. The same midwife for the first time in 9 months. Whether or not she planned it that way to double check bubs position because of her hesitations the previous week I will never know. I think it is possible since she encouraged me to take an afternoon appointment which I had never done, and she happened to be working the afternoon shift. Anyways, I wont dwell on that.
She had some concerns with my blood pressure and again, bub's positioning, so I was sent off the fetal monitoring. They did an ultrasound straight away and found that bubs was, in fact, breech. I then sat through 4 hours of monitoring to make sure everything was ok due to my blood pressure which had come straight down anyway.
I left that appointment with a new appointment for a caesarean section the following morning. My daughter was delivered the day before her "due" date at 11:06am. The procedure was fine. I threw up at one point, and I did have to spend half an hour away from my daughter while I waited in recovery but I did get a hold before that (although she was all wrapped up). I spend 4 nights in hospital and for the most part the staff were fine. There was one midwife who was quite rude, but nothing extreme.
All in all, I left the hospital satisfied that everything had been done as it needed to be.
It's not a hard story for me to tell, but I do regret not doing my research. I know now that vaginal breech is more than possible. I can't help but feel that if I had done my research and managed to have my daughter vaginally, then I wouldn't have faced the battle I did to VBAC with my son and then perhaps, I would not have failed then.
Perhaps I would've had that skin to skin contact that sounds like a dream. I have not had that with either of my babies and it's something that sticks in the back of mind. This amazing experience of a fresh little bubba being popped straight onto my chest ready to nurse as he/she desires. Instead, my daughter was pulled from my stomach and dangled in front of me while they clamped the cord. We saw that she was a girl before she was whipped away to be rubbed all over vigorously by a rough towel (she was crying quite clearly when she came out) and wrapped up in the towel before having her handed to me to hold in some awkward position supported by my husband. I held her for about 5 seconds before I had to have her taken away so I could throw up. I got her back while they sewed me up but then off to recovery while she spent a good hald hour sucking her fists waiting for that first feed.
It wasn't a traumatic experience but I just can't help but wonder what could've been.
