birth story

UPDATE // BIRTH TRAUMA

I wouldn't change a single thing about my birth story.  I wrote it when I was still really high on oxytocin, and I feel like the original words testify to the fact that birth is raw, messy, complicated, and beautiful. That being said, you can love and hate your experience all at once. You don't have to suppress any one feeling, because of the stigma that surrounds this topic. You don't have to do or be anything. You can own your birth and those very valid feelings, even if you had birth trauma. 

What is birth trauma? Isn't all birth traumatic to some degree? 

Here's an excerpt from The Birth Trauma Association:
"When we talk of birth trauma, we mean Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that occurs after childbirth. We also include those women who may not meet the clinical criteria for PTSD but who have some of the symptoms of the disorder. PTSD is the term for a set of normal reactions to a traumatic, scary or bad experience. It is a disorder that can occur following the experience or witnessing of life-threatening events. We usually recognize these as things like military combat, natural disasters, terrorist incidents, serious accidents, or violent personal assaults like rape. However, a traumatic experience can be any experience involving the threat of death or serious injury to an individual or another person close to them (e.g. their baby) so it is now understood that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder can be a consequence of a traumatic birth."
 
  Before I gave birth, I was very clear with my OB on my stance on interventions. During birth, my husband and I were very clear about what I was and was not okay with. Still, still, my OB pressured me into using forceps. Fine. I was still 100% against an episiotomy, though. I told him I wanted to tear naturally. Still, still, he hid scissors behind his back, and without the slightest warning, he cut me. The look on my husband's face was everything I needed to see. My son was out, and I felt like I could finally start to breathe a little, until I saw my OB snip the cord without consulting me. He had promised to wait until it stopped pulsating, but there he was betraying my trust once again.

As the months went on, I didn't feel right. Whenever my husband and sister offered to look and see if they could see anything down there, I would scoot away, ball up, wince, flinch, hyperventilate, and cry. They promised they wouldn't touch me, but I didn't hear their words. I never could. I felt so broken on the inside, and the pain I felt from recovering was unbearable at times. It didn't feel normal, and my intuition was right. 

My OB repeatedly told me that I was making things up in my head, and that I was just being over dramatic. I didn't believe him, but I felt like I was at a complete loss. When he checked me once more, after the New Year, and when I was required to meet my $400 deductible again, he finally admitted that I had a huge knotted scar tissue where he gave me the forced episiotomy. I was conveniently then scheduled to have a laser procedure to remove it, and, lo and behold, I had to pay $400 out of pocket to pay for it. 

The procedure itself was a nightmare, including the check-ups I've had leading up to this point. Each time, I had a panic attack just as if I were at home with my husband and sister. Each time, it ended the same. My OB was unusually cruel during these appointments and procedure. I received at least a handful of shots to numb me down there, and each shot had me in broken tears. It didn't help that my OB was telling me to stop crying, telling me that I was lying about the pain, and telling me that I was being dramatic. He was mad at me. Up to this point, I couldn't even let my husband check me down there, and here was this person who betrayed me and violated me during birth, and he was getting mad at me while he sat there doing it all over again.

A healthy baby is important. But, so is a healthy mother. If a mother can't help herself, how is she expected to care for others?

Here is a link to my hospital review: https://www.facebook.com/mrsjbigley/posts/10153318522289724:0

Now, for the actual birth story.

motherhood uncensored // the birth of bennett 

 

What I am about to share with the world is the most intimate part of my life, but a moment that I feel needs to be shared because I am tired of motherhood being censored. When I was about four months pregnant, there was a beautiful post going around about the censorship of birth, and I was appreciative that there were people out there willing to share such an honest glimpse at birth. The rawness of the photos was the most appealing to me. This birth story is two months overdue, but I feel like I needed the time to think, meditate, and find the courage to begin. So, here it goes.

At 5 pm on Sunday, November 23, 2014, I checked into Labor and Delivery at Medical City Dallas. Yes, I was previously planning a freebirth. Yes, I knew the pros and cons of inducing. Yes, I still support homebirths. But, after everything was said and done, I could not go another night of choking on my own bile in the middle of the night. So, induction it was. I wasn't given Cytotec until 9 pm, so things were moving pretty slow at this point. It wasn't until midnight when I had my first contraction. 

This is when things got interesting, finally! I was given some kind of pain med (no idea what it's called) to help me sleep through the contractions, and to say that I was high would be an understatement. Uncontrollable laughter, ridiculous snorting, and hallucinations! Oh, my! After 15-20 minutes of that nonsense, I slept oh-so well, for which I was incredibly grateful for. By midnight, I started to progress and those contractions started to wake me out of my heavily-drug induced nap. Meanwhile, a baby was being born right next door to me, and the mother's screams would creep into my own thoughts, digging its way under my skin. This was my moment of doubt, weakness, and fear. It's not everyday that I internalize another person's experience, but there I was doing just that.

All the fears and "horror stories" used to scare new moms clouded me all at once. And, most of the time, those things aren't shared with bad intentions. I really do believe people mean well and that their advice comes from a good place. But, I almost feel like people spend more time emphasizing the fear and scary aspects of birth, rather than giving empowerment and beauty and equal standing; in my experience, it was definitely both.

By 3 am, I was given the epidural which was uneventful, for a lack of better words. The lack of eventfulness went against every preconceived thought I had about getting one. Like, really, getting the epidural was the most underwhelming and insignificant part of my whole experience. Truth be told, the IV in my hand hurt 100 mores than the epi — who knew? And even with the epi, I did feel those life-changing contractions. With every toe-curling ache, I knew I was getting closer and closer to meeting the love of my life. So, I don't want to hear anyone telling me otherwise (don't be that person); I felt them.  Also, it felt like I traded in one kind of pain for another. Maybe it's just me, but extreme numbness and immobility were painful in their own right, and something I never could have prepared myself for. There were times when I wished I never got it, because the tingling in my legs drove me mad. Then, there were times when I was glad I wasn't feeling the full force of those lip-quivering-stop-you-in-your-tracks contractions. All in all, the epidural and I have a love/hate relationship.

When 6 am rolled around, I was about 4-5 cm dilated and irritated. Plain and simple, everything irritated the heck out of me. Where was the calm birthing goddess I always dreamed I'd be? Where the hell was she? She might have been locked in the storage closet along with my birth pool and old birth plan, but that's neither here nor there. I'm not interested in people telling me that things would have been different had I homebirthed like I originally planned, or if I went to a birthing center instead. All I'm going to say on the matter is that I would've done all those things and more had I been in a position to be able to. During this time, my sister was doing my hair and makeup (something I would have been able to do myself if I wasn't hooked up to machines every which way). Funny thing, the nurse said my blood pressure was the highest at this point in time; I guess you can say that I don't like other people doing my hair and makeup. Bwahahaha. #divaproblems amirite?

She did a fantastic job, though, and I feel like a jerk for giving her the stink eye all the while she was trying to do me a favor. When lunch time snuck up on us, things were getting serious because that's when the nurses started having me push. Yeah, about that...

I asked for the labor bar, even though I couldn't hold myself up. The nurse kept fighting me on it, but when someone tells you to act like you're pooping, I'm sorry (not sorry) but you can't exactly mimic that while lying down flat on your back. She was right about not being able to hold myself up, but try I did. The nurse would tell me to push, walk away to check on stuff, then scold me for pushing without her. Hey, the body wants what it wants. I pushed with or without her, because my body told me to. This went on for two more hours, and it was more tiring to for me to push on demand (on her terms, no less), than it was when I went with the natural flow of my body.

After all that, I went from 6 cm to 9½ cm dilated within a 30 minute window. Of course, I didn't know that that was what was happening to me. I just knew something was different. even if I couldn't put my finger on it. I just felt this overwhelming sense like I couldn't go on (with the pushing and groaning), only that's exactly what I needed to do. My husband and sister said that I became dead weight. When I told the nurses that I felt like he was going to come out very soon, they shrugged me off a few times, because "first time moms don't progress THAT quickly," they kept saying. It wasn't until sweat was dripping from my forehead, tears pouring down my face, and my whole body shaking with the force of all the drugs, and a baby trying to descend down the birth canal, that the nurses decided it was a good time to finally confirm that I was indeed 9½ cm dilated. Let me just say, I've never had a more satisfying "I told you so" moment. The nurses were so baffled that they called in backup to double check and confirm what I already knew.

I know a lot of this sounds scary and "bad" — I get it, I do. But, this was about the time when I started to see the beauty in childbirth, too. In the midst of all this chaos, I would look up at my husband to see tears quietly escaping his tired eyes. He was in a place where sympathy and excitement rarely meet, except on this one occasion. Sympathy because he didn't know how to help me, he was just sorry that he couldn't take any of the pain away. Excitement because he knew that I had to undergo this painful transformation in order for him to become the father he always dreamed he'd be. And, that last part is a magical feeling that lights a spark in your soul; the love you begin to reserve for your child touches every nook and cranny of your soul, even the darkest corners. And, I saw this happening before my eyes. I saw it in the way my husband held my hand, and I saw it in the way he looked right back at me. The beauty is that he was seeing this transformation unfold before him, as well, and the synchronization of our love was the highlight of our entire relationship.

Now, in come all the randoms. I was so ready to push him out that I started to have tunnel vision. Really, it wasn't until a random man with a thick European accent, and blinding white lab coat, held my hand when I realized my room was now completely full of strangers. Now, get this, that random guy holding my hand? He wiped the sweat from my brow, as he told me that he was sorry that my epidural wasn't administered correctly (whatever the hell that means), on top of the discovery that nobody replaced my epi bag god knows when. I'll never know what all he meant, because I was lost in my own little world of pain. Pain. Unimaginable pain consumed me. I remember trying to find my OB in the sea of unfamiliar faces, but he didn't show up until the 11th hour. Of course. Don't get me wrong, I love my OB to pieces. I just needed him there sooner, because I felt so alone, even with the hundred people checking up on me.

So, I was stuck at 9½ cm for close to two hours. When my OB finally graced us with his presence, he confirmed that Baby Bigley was stuck right behind my pelvic bone. This explained why all my pushing amounted to nothing, and why I was secretly wishing for a c-section. Apparently, with him being sunny-side up and turned at an angle, all my pushing only shoved him right behind the pelvic bone even more. At one point, one of the nurses whispered, "I don't know why you're being so loud. It shouldn't hurt that much." And, while she said this under her breath as she rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time, I heard every last word like it was a knife to my raging hormonal heart, only it made me furious more than it made me sad. It mattered not what she or anyone else thought, because this was the moment that I surrendered myself to my body with everything in me.

P.S. I drank water, despite their stupid rules. I regret nothing. I couldn't have done it without water, so I'm thankful that my husband put my needs above some silly hospital policy. Every drop of water that graced my cracked lips was a big help in giving me the strength I needed to push.

With the aid of forceps and an episiotomy, Bennett Watson Bigley was welcomed earthside at 3:55 pm at 6lbs and 11oz. It was the single-most beautiful moment in my life, and the oxytocin rush I so badly looked forward to finally washed over me, humbling me and sobering me like nothing else before. Even as I was being stitched up, I felt no pain. Even though I was in excruciating my-body-is-going-to-split kind of pain moments before, it was almost like it didn't even happen, only it did. I want to relive that moment forever, always. 

That is how beautiful and amazing giving birth was. It was so rich in oxytocin that I find myself wanting to give birth again and again — pains and all. I had never been so drunk on love and empowerment, it's crazy. How could I feel so drunk on love and happiness, yet feel so sober all at once? I don't know. I chalk it up to the fact that the love a mother has for her child is the purest and most beautiful kind of love there is — and cue the waterworks as I type this. Even though I'm still recovering from the forceps and episiotomy, even though my body isn't completely healed, I am healed. As a daughter, as a sister, as a wife, and as a person who walks this earth, I am healed. And, I owe it to the day I gave birth to a sweet little bundle of innocence I like to call my son.

There are things in my life I am not entirely proud of, regret, and feel sorry about; being a mother is not one of those things, nor will it ever be. I will always be unapologetic when it concerns my journey as a mother. For this reason, I share my birth photos. Vagina, nipples, and all. Birth is slowly, but surely, becoming normalized. There will always be people who are offended by x, y, and z, and that's really not my problem. Referring back to the original post that inspired me, I kept asking myself what was holding me back from being one of those people sharing their uncensored birth experiences. Why do I have to sit back and admire others, while secretly wishing I could be brave like them? The moment I stopped caring what others think, I became free.

I did communicate with my husband about sharing these images, but it was more out of courtesy than for permission. That being said, enjoy or don't enjoy! I don't care. My experience was beautiful, and I have the pictures to prove it. If you want a sugar-coated synopsis of birth, I'm sure the media can lend a hand. As for me, I'll be over here, sharing uncensored pieces of my journey as a mother, because birth is beautiful and it makes the world go round. Between the censorship of birth and the celebration of it, I will always choose to celebrate it.

"Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming." — Oscar Wilde