My Cesarean Story
This is the story of my c-section with my son. It's very long, but I felt that the details needed to be there to complete the story. This is what caused the turning point in my beliefs about birth. If even *one* person learns from my huge mistake, then it is worth talking about.
My Cesarean Story
Noah Orion Fiscer
March 26, 2004 2:31 p.m.
Baby Boy, 8 lbs 8 oz 19 ½ inches long
This is a hard story to write. Mainly because of my enormous feelings of guilt, for being an idiot at the time. For not researching before having my son cut out of my body. For not going with my gut feeling. And ultimately, for causing my son to be ill and spend nine full days in the NICU without his mommy. This is something I fear I will grieve forever. There has been healing, but it has been slow. It was his second birthday that was the hardest on me, because by then I was educated and knew that it was me that failed him. Not my body, not the doctor. Nobody but myself. I have heard so many times that it doesn't matter anymore. That he is healthy NOW, and that's all that matters. But it's not. And I don't say this to gain pity from anyone reading this, or anyone who has heard me say these things. It's MY truth. Yes, he is a very active, healthy little boy who is very sweet in spirit. But when he needed me the most, I failed him. I failed to give him the healthiest delivery possible. I
failed to give him the best start. I have flashbacks of my newborn son, lying sedated and swollen in an isolated NICU room, with his chest caving in with each breath, hooked up to every machine imagineable. And yet, this was supposed to be my "big, healthy baby".
I will start in the beginning, because my pregnancy with him was strange from the beginning. I found out that I was pregnant the week of July 7th. I had two or three positive pregnancy tests. We were very excited. I had some very strange stomach pains and cramping after sex one night that week though. On Saturday the 12th, I began to bleed heavily. I was cramping and soaking pads. I called into a local hospital, and they guessed me to be about 6-7 weeks along, and explained that there was nothing that could be done about a miscarriage at this stage, unless I began bleeding excessively. To be extremely honest, my feelings were mixed. We were living with family, in a bad situation, and I dreaded bringing a new life into it, nevermind dealing with everything while pregnant. It didn't hit me until about 2 weeks later when we were out to lunch, and I saw a newborn baby. I began to sob then and there. I was mourning our loss without being fully aware that I was mourning. The days past by, and oddly enough I began experiencing major pregnancy symptoms. We decided to test. That test lit up so brightly positive, there was no mistaking it. I ran out of the bathroom shaking and crying to tell Jeramy. We were excited, relieved, and somewhat confused. I made a doctors appointment for later that week. When the doctor palpated, she said that she didn't believe that I miscarried at all, that I was palpating about 8-10 weeks in gestation. She set me up for an ultrasound for two days later. When I had the ultrasound done, it put me at only 4-5 weeks gestation, as did the blood test. The doctor was stumped. I was given a due date of April 27th.
The pregnancy went on unremarkably, except that at each ultrasound done, I was found to be further ahead than what I was originally given. I went in for an ultrasound at 18 weeks on the dot, when we found out that our belly bean was going to be a little boy, and the ultrasound put me at just over 20 weeks, not 18. We moved, and I had to find a new provider. I chose a hospital that had a "Birth Place", where they had huge tubs to labor in, and no epidural offered. I figured that I had done it epidural-free with Kaitlyn, and I could do it again. I was excited at this. Until things began to make less sense than ever. I felt that something was majorly off. I felt that I was much further along than what my due date was saying. I expressed my concerns with my original doctor, only for my concerns to be waived away. I switched doctors for that and a few other reasons, and this one seemed like she shared my concerns. I stupidly had ultrasound after ultrasound, and each and every one gave me a sooner due date. Each one put me ahead at least 2 weeks. I was now looking at a March 27th due date. I spoke to my OB about all of these things, as I was so very concerned to have another large baby. At this point I didn't understand that it was Kaitlyn's position and my stupidness at staying in bed and pushing on my back that caused my huge episiotomy and horrible recovery…not her size. I just kept saying that I didn't want another 9 lb baby. Oh how stupid I was.
I went in for a routine appointment on Wednesday, March 24th and my doctor informed me that my son was already showing over 8 lbs, and that she would induce that evening. I was excited that I was finally being listened to. She had agreed on an earlier due date of April 4th, about 2 weeks before this induction. She mentioned in passing that the hemoglobin test that I had done at 36 weeks, came back a "bit low" and that they would recheck me with labs when I was admitted to the hospital that evening. I happily packed my bags, called family, and got prepared to meet my little boy. We went and I was admitted, where they drew blood and inserted cervadil. My instructions were to remain in bed for an hour, and then I could get up and walk the halls to try to help the cervadil. I waited my hour, and sent Jeramy to get me some food before labor hit, and set about to walking up and down the hallway. I was about a half hour into walking around when the hospital midwife came rushing in and told me that they had to stop the induction NOW, and that I needed a blood transfusion. Apparently when the hemoglobin test had been done, I came back at 8.2. Anything below 10 is dangerous for mom and baby during delivery. My labs came back from this night, and it was all the way down to 7.4. The midwife explained that it could be potentially life threatening to myself or my son if the induction continued. I was sad, outraged, and confused. How could my OB send me in for an induction if my levels were so low? How could she not even TELL me that my levels were so low, or put a plan of treatment in place? I was angry at having to undergo a blood transfusion, instead of delivering my baby. I received 12 hours of blood, while I asked what was going on. No one could answer since my doctor was not there. When I asked her in the morning when she briefly dropped into my room, she lied. She outright LIED! She told me that she thought my levels "would just go up". She also mentioned that we would check for lung maturity by doing an amniocentesis the following Monday, and THEN possibly do a c-section because of size, within two weeks. WAIT A MINUTE??!! Why are we checking lung maturity four days from now, when you had me come in for an induction last night???? Why are you talking a c-section two weeks from now, when you brought me in for an induction last night? She had no answers, only lies. I was furious, and scared over the idea of delivering with this woman. I told my husband that we would find another doctor and deliver at the other hospital. I had asked to be checked several times before discharge, as I had been contracting all night and lost my mucous plug. No one checked me prior to us leaving. I went home and got on
the phone, calling the other local hospital to try to find another doctor.
A Labor and Delivery nurse mentioned a doctor who was brand new to the area, fresh out of New York's Mount Sinai hospital…one of the up and coming hospitals on the East Coast. She said that because he was new, he might take me on considering my situation and what had happened .My husband and I met with him that afternoon. He palpated and mentioned how large I was, and that there was no possible way of being due in the end of April. That my dates were certainly off. He then went on to tell us of broken collar bones, nerve damage, and cerebral palsy associated with delivering a "macrosomic" baby. We sat there and allowed the fear of delivering a gigantic baby encompass our thoughts. We agreed to meet him at the hospital the next morning for an NST and another ultrasound. He said that he can determine baby's maturity by how much vernix was floating in the amniotic fluid.
I arrived the next morning , March 26th, at 9am by myself. Jeramy and Kaitlyn dropped me off and went to have breakfast together. I was admitted and was going to be hooked up for the NST when the new doctor arrived and said he'd like to do the ultrasound first. We did the ultrasound, and he saw and showed me the abundance of vernix floating on the screen. Surely he was ready, look at all the vernix! We then went back upstairs where ironically now, he introduced me to the NICU Doctor. He explained that any baby delivered by c-section was examined in the NICU before going to be with mom in post partum. I took this at face value and didn't think more about it. We went in where I was hooked up to the monitor for a 20 minute NST, while my new doctor went out to put my c-section on the books for the next morning. He came back in after 10 minutes to say that he saw some pretty good contractions on the monitor at the nurses station, and commented on how that had better not be me…as he had furniture being delivered that evening for his new office. Sure enough, I was contracting every 4-5 minutes. He checked for dilation, and found me to be 4cm already. He smiled as he announced that the c-section would take place in an hour. Butterflies were going crazy in my stomach, as I frantically tried reaching Jeramy to get his butt back to the hospital, and tried calling my mom and Jeramy's grandmother. We needed someone there to take care of Kaitlyn so that I was not by myself in the operating room. Jeramy got back in plenty of time, as I was being prepped. I had an IV inserted, and a catheter placed without any numbing agent or anesthesia. Jeramy's grandmother arrived just shortly before being wheeled into the OR by myself. I was terrified that I had to go in without Jeramy. "Just until the spinal is in place", they told me. I walked myself into the freezing cold OR, and had asked them to cover the instruments so that I didn't see them. They commented that I was the first patient to request this. I sat up on the OR table, and began sobbing. I had a very kind nurse in front of me, hugging me and stroking my hair, as my spinal was put in place. It was a very odd feeling to have a catheter inserted deep into my back. I was laid down, and almost instantly I couldn't feel anything. I could feel the slight movement of them sterilizing my belly with iodine, but didn't have any real sensations. Jeramy was escorted in to sit by my head and be my support throughout the surgery. I tried my hardest to convince myself that the gut wrenching burning smell I was smelling was not my flesh, but the oxygen mask on my face. It's the only thing I could do to keep from throwing up. I was also falling asleep on the table because of the amount of drugs I was given through my IV.
I experienced what felt like nurses sitting on my chest, as they pushed violently to get my son out of my body through the small incision. I heard the suctioning after his head was out, and Jeramy was instructed to look if he wanted to. My son was pulled out of my body, and whisked away to the warming table. He was crying, I can vaguely remember him crying. They brought him over to me, already fully wrapped and outfitted with a cap, to "meet" and kiss. My son turned purple, and they whisked him away…this time out of the OR and into the NICU. I told Jeramy to go be with him. I continued to fall asleep, going into oblivion as far as what my baby was going through. I was wheeled to the recovery room, mostly asleep, coming in and out of conciousness when the Neonatologist ( remember, the guy I met *before* the surgery? ) came in and explained that my son had experienced two seizures within his first 10 minutes, and that they needed consent to do a spinal tap. "Oh, sure. Do what you need to do, I'll just see him later." I wasn't worrying, because I was too damn out of it to know that there was something to be worried about. I went into my post partum room thinking the same – that my son would join me in my room later.
It was later that evening, when the heavy drugs began wearing off, that I was asking about my son. I was simply told that I could see him in the morning, that he was being kept for observation. Jeramy was not allowed to stay with me, so I was left very much alone in my recovery room. Empty womb, empty arms. As soon as I could, first thing in the morning, I was determined to get up to pee so that I could see my son. That was the stipulation…that I have my catheter removed and they were sure I could move, before going to see him. So, I did. Jeramy arrived to help me go to the NICU, and be my support. No one had given me much information about how he was doing, what state he was in. Imagine walking in to see what you had been told was going to be your "big, healthy baby", and seeing a sedated, swollen, very sick baby with his chest caving in. All that was racing through my mind was "This isn't my baby. They got it wrong. He doesn't look like me, he doesn't feel like mine, he's not healthy. This baby is sick. This baby CAN'T be my baby." I was absolutely devastated.
The neonatologist explained that he had Severe Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Common in cesarean babies. COMMON in cesarean babies. Why the HELL wasn't I warned of this BEFORE I was scared into it? I was told that he had not suffered from any more seizures, and he would be taken off the seizure medication that afternoon. They told us that he was on CPAP, a large tube that delivered oxygen to my baby who couldn't breathe on his own. They gave me no indication of when he would be well enough to be with me. As it was, I could only touch this baby that they told me was mine, I couldn't even hold him. I couldn't nurse my newborn child. I couldn't give him the skin to skin contact that is shown to be so very important for bonding and development. I went back to my room, empty armed again. I sobbed and sobbed to Jeramy, wondering if he was going to make it. Wondering why this happened. I spent the day in pain at my surgery, and the loss of health of my son.
The next morning as we scrubbed into the NICU to see him, a nurse stopped us and asked us to go to the "Family Room", that Noah took a bad turn and was being intubated. I lost it. I was almost hysterical, waiting for the neonatologist to come in and explain. He explained that he wasn't saturating enough oxygen on the CPAP anymore, as his breathing worsened. That he had no guess on how long it would be for, and explained that a series of tests would be ran to try to find the cause of the seizures. He was set up for a head ultrasound, a CAT scan, an echocardiogram, and an EEG. I was terrified. Noah was taken off the intubation the next day, as apparently he screamed louder than any doctor or nurse there, had heard a baby scream with intubation. He tried pulling it out. Noah went back to CPAP, where he did well. This was on Monday. I was discharged from the hospital, and left my son there by himself. That was just as heartbreaking as everything else that was happening. Tests began, and each one showed up as normal. There were no causes found for his seizures. On Tuesday, day 4, I was finally able to hold my precious son. I didn't want to let go. I almost COULDN'T let go. But eventually my incision and my back began killing me. I reluctantly let go, and spent a few more hours there, holding him when I could. I was told that the next day he could begin eating by mouth. So I put a HUGE sign on his isolette, saying that I wanted to breastfeed for his first feeding. I wanted the first thing that he got orally, to be my breast. Thankfully they were very kind at this hospital, and they did indeed have me breastfeed for his first and second feeding. He did wonderfully. He nursed like a champ, and actually saturated oxygen the best he had in days, while nursing. The nurses joked about me staying there around the clock to keep his 02 sats up. I visited him 2-3 times per day, several hours at a time, until we were told he was healthy enough to come home on Sunday, April 4th…Palm Sunday.
Yes, my son is okay now. He is healthy, and he is strong and active and gorgeous. But it won't ever take the pain away from what I did. How incredibly stupid I was. I have learned now, through much heartache, that God has designed childbirth to work in ways that we may not always understand. That it's not *supposed* to be messed with, or fretted over. We're not supposed to worry about size, because the Bible teaches us that God knits the baby together in our womb. We're not supposed to numb ourselves for one of the most important days of our lives. We feel labor for a reason. Without drugs or epidural, we are coherent. Our body is working with the major release of hormones, instead of against it. It deeply saddens me when moms interfere with birth. When the induce, when the medicate, when they choose a surgical delivery. That isn't how we're supposed to birth….and my story is an example of the consequences that come when we do.
