Many moms answer that last question by saying, "It doesn't matter, as long I have a healthy baby." I definitely wanted a healthy baby, but I would be lying if I said that was all I wanted. I wanted more. I was selfish and greedy. I wanted a natural birth: one where I would feel powerful, where my body would know what to do to bring a little human into this world, where I would get to feel what it was like to become a mother, where I could sit and snuggle my baby skin to skin, where I would smile up at my husband sharing silent thoughts and wishes for the little baby cuddled between us.
But that's not what God planned for me; that is not what I got. Despite all my attempts and planning my perfect birth experience was stolen. Stolen by interventions. Stolen by the NICU. While pregnant I had thought through a thousand different scenarios, but I never imagined it would go the way it did. Looking back, I could have dealt with the 28 hour labor, the intense contractions that washed over me every 2-4 minutes from the very beginning, the back labor, or the fact that I didn't progress. I could have dealt with nurses pressuring me to do something I didn't want to do and having contractions intensified by pitocin. I could have dealt with the miles we walked around the hallways, the hours spent bouncing on the birth ball, or the exhaustion that threatened my body with each passing hour.
What I later realized I couldn't deal with was my son being taken from me only seconds after I delivered him or the look on Doug's face from across the room as the doctors tried to bring life back into Camber. I couldn't deal with the horrible coldness I felt as the vast crowd of doctors and nurses left my room taking my son, who I hadn't even met yet, with them. I couldn't deal with the scared feeling I had when I was alone in a room where I was supposed to be surrounded with family and love. I couldn't deal with the fact that I didn't get to see them weigh my son for the first time, or that I had to spend the first week of Camber's life in the NICU. I couldn't deal with seeing tubes coming out of my son's nose and body. I couldn't deal with listening to him scream as they inserted a special IV or took countless amounts of blood. I hated leaving Camber in that NICU room alone as we were discharged and sent home. It was the most empty and horrible feeling to be leaving the hospital without our son.
I still have emotions about my birth experience, emotions that come flooding back in an instant without warning. Emotions that linger. I found a group that has helped me work through these emotions; women who have stories that need told, shared experiences that connect us and help us heal. It is called "A Mother's Tears: A Difficult Birth Journey and it is held at Willowsong, the Midwifery clinic in Des Moines on the first Tuesday of every month. I have met some amazing women with gut-wrenching stories and it didn't always make my experience easier, but it helped me feel heard and understood.
To be honest, some of the most difficult times, when the emotions would come creeping back into the fore-front of my mind, was when some of my closest friends had their babies. I was so happy they had healthy babies and positive birth experiences, but inside I was reminded that I had not gotten the experience I wanted. Not that I would EVER want them to endure what I had to go through, but I wanted that experience! I was jealous!
Women don't talk about this subject a whole lot. It's one we hide under "holding-it-all-together-conversations." Instead of asking the raw, emotional questions, we ask the easy ones: "Where did you get that cute outfit?" "Have you tried swaddling them?" "Have you been pooped on yet?" And as much as those questions are needed, so are the hard ones! Women need to band together, support one another, ask the hard questions, and then most importantly, be there for the answer. Offer a shoulder to cry on; listen, understand. Pray-lots and lots of prayer. It's not acceptable that women are going through these things alone. And if a woman comes to you trying to tell her story or upset because it didn't go her way, for God's sake don't say "But you have such a happy, healthy baby." Don't you think she knows that?! She probably already feels guilty enough that she is having those feelings when her baby is happy and healthy. Give her time, give her the space to feel and show her emotions; be there for her!
I ended up with that perfect, little guy who is crazy, daring, lovable, happy, and above all else, healthy. I am so grateful for him. He is my trailblazer and we share this story together. A bond only Camber and I know. One that hurts, one that still makes me sad. But one that is deep, and strong, and powerful.
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