You can plan all you like for how you want your birth to go, but at the end of the day, it will never go exactly as you planned!
That’s what I told everyone who asked me about my birthing plan, and all expectant moms I had chats with. In theory, I knew this to be true, and I was convinced that I was prepared for it.
Personally, what I wanted was a water birth. I wanted it to be as natural as possible, to try and bring my baby into the world like women have done for generations. No drugs, no surgery, just me and my baby. I would be bringing it (we didn’t know the sex yet) into our lives without intervention.
I went to a birthing class, did tons of reading, watched other natural births and even looked into a doula. Although, due to budget constraints, the doctors and hospital fees, it just wasn’t an option. Big mistake.
It was a pretty great pregnancy. Despite the 19 weeks of morning sickness, I really enjoyed it. I stroked my belly everyday, sang to it, and always looked forward to the baby kicks at night. I was pushing myself to be the best mom I could ever be, and that included how I brought it into this world.
Perhaps I put a little too much pressure on myself without realizing it.
THEY DON’T CALL IT LABOR FOR NOTHING
On the day I started having contractions, right off the bat, they were 3-5 minutes apart. After the bloody show appeared and an hour or so of more contractions, we went to the hospital. The room was great. It was very comfortable and bright, and the inflatable birthing pool was ready for me to get into (boy, was I grateful for it!)
The contractions were strong and regular. Without an epidural, I could really feel them. The warmth of the water was comforting. I appreciated the encouragement of my close friends, my Tita, and my boyfriend; who were all standing by, anxiously waiting for me to give birth. My Mum, being in England, was also tensely waiting by the phone for updates. It was going to be a long wait. I was only 2cm dilated at that point.
Hours passed, and I was in and out of the pool. I was able to have conversations with friends passing through, and just tried to get some sleep in between contractions. Eighteen hours later, I felt so worn out, but I told myself that women do this all the time, and that I can’t quit now, I’m almost there. I think I was still only about 5cm dilated by then.
My Tita came over to me and said, “You know you can scream right? You don’t have to hold it in.” Up until then, I hadn’t made any noise during the pain. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I could scream. After that, it got pretty loud in there.
THE WAIT CONTINUES
When I got to 31 hours, I was in so much pain, I cried with every contraction. Worse still was that every time my doctor had to perform an internal examination, the pain was excruciating.
I had had enough at that point. People were coming to visit me and I didn’t even care that they saw me naked in all my pregnant glory. I just wanted it to stop. I told my doctor I didn’t want to do it anymore, and pleaded for her to just take the baby out. But she encouraged me and told me I could do it.
So I held on.
35,36,37 hours. Pain levels were insane. I felt as though a bowling ball was crushing my pelvis each and every time, and I wasn’t holding it in anymore. I think everyone on that birthing floor could feel my pain.
And then at 38 hours, my contractions started moving further apart (7-8 minutes). At 9cm, the baby’s head was wedged into my cervix and seemed very comfortable there. More vaginal probing, more contractions. I had to make a choice- keep waiting, induce and wait, or have a C-Section.
WEIGHING OUT THE OPTIONS
My mum was so terrified I was going to die (I don’t think it was ever that bad but still). She was pushing for a C-section and my partner’s Mum said the same. My Tita told me it was my decision, and the nurses told me my options over and over again because I kept asking, “What should I do?” (I was seriously deliriously tired at this point and probably wasn’t thinking straight.)
I didn’t want to get a C, but the thought of more hours in pain was just too much for me. I was exhausted, and in the height of my pain, I couldn’t even give myself props for how far I had come. In the wondrous, natural glory of it all, I felt like I was failing. I felt like I had come this far only to fail at what I had wanted so much.
You can plan all you want but it never happens exactly as you planned on the day.
How I wish I could have really believed those words then. I cried. I had nothing left. Even though I had fought like a warrior to get there, I felt as if I did not do enough. I felt weak for giving in, but I caved and asked for a C.
My doctor said, “Sayang, because I really thought you could do it.”
I know she meant well because she knew how much I wanted the water birth. That Filipino sentiment we know so well, ‘sayang’. [*that’s too bad– in context]
THE LAST STRETCH
While in the operating room, the doctors and nurses prepped me. I don’t think I had ever looked forward to a shot so much in my life. I just wanted relief. But it wasn’t meant to be.
My doctor was called to deliver a baby via water delivery happening at that very moment. So before giving me the saddle blocker, she went to go and deliver the other baby first.
As I lay there, I had 5 more contractions and just did my best to get through them. My bf wasn’t there. It was just me. To make it worse, I felt a gushing from between my legs. I knew that meant the baby could have probably come out then if I was still in the water.
But it was too late.
Half an hour later, my doctor came back and she gave me the shot to the spine. I’ve never felt so relieved! The numbness washed over me and I felt a sense of calm. Blissful numbness. I didn’t have to do anything now. They all took over.
The whole pregnancy I had thought we were having a boy. My bf managed to get in the room just in time, and as they pulled the baby out, the doctor said, “It’s a girl!” and followed it up with, “Time of birth: oh, 11:11!”
11:11pm on the 11th of the 1st.
MAGIC IN A BLUR
After almost 40 hours, my magical baby girl was here. I was so tired that I didn’t have enough energy to be shocked. The next thing I know, she was on top of me, latching like a pro, and I felt a warm sensation on my chest. Turns out, it was not the bliss of motherhood that I could feel, but the blessing of my daughter’s first pee all over me.
Our stay at the hospital was great, with some wonderful nurses helping us out. Despite some breastfeeding (bleeding nipples!!) issues, I thought we were doing really good.
Well, the baby was good. I was in a blur in my own head.
A blur which lasted almost the entire first year of my baby’s life.
My C-section scar was an ugly, everyday reminder of my failure. A reminder of how close I came to my perfect delivery and how I had copped out at what I felt was the last minute. Failure. And now I had to clean it, and tend to this wound of failure everyday.
I would see other Mums who had given birth naturally and feel a pang of jealousy. Eight hour labours, ten hours, easy deliveries with no issues, and I just felt that stabbing pain of guilt over and over again.
I had failed my daughter by not delivering her the way I was supposed to.
It doesn’t matter that logically speaking I knew I was being stupid, or how much people told me that I was a warrior for what I went through. It didn’t matter that my beautiful daughter was healthy and amazing and she lit up my life. I just kept thinking about that failure.
HEALING PAST PERCEIVED FAILURES
It is a painful thing to be a mother. You want to do everything right. You want to be perfect all the time, and more often than not, we fail at that because we forget that nobody is perfect. And what is perfect, really?
I tried my best to snap out of it. I didn’t want to be depressed about it or keep replaying the events in my head thinking “if only I had…”
We can be so harsh on ourselves and quickly forget just how much it took for us to get to where we are.
Recently, I started going back to the gym and working out. My scar has healed nicely and because I’ve lost a lot of the weight, I stopped feeling this tugging sensation around it that used to be a reminder as well.
The feelings of failure have gone now. 21 months after the birth, I can say I have finally forgiven myself and realised just how proud I should be of what I did and how much I fought to get my baby into this world.
At the end of the day that is really all that matters.
A SUPERHERO’S IMPERFECTION
As mothers, we always want to be perfect.
This is the first time I have ever really admitted how much sadness I brought on myself after the birth. In fact, so much of the first year was a blur because I was so caught up in my own shortcomings. I couldn’t even fully enjoy my triumphs. Being able to breastfeed, changing diapers, seeing my daughter smile and laugh, all while working full time, and without a maid to help us either. I was a superwoman who felt like a failure. They never make superhero movies like that.
I don’t want my daughter to grow up being as harsh on herself as I was on myself, or for any of our kids to have to grow up with the ridiculous standards we have held ourselves to. As their mothers, we have to realise that when it comes to giving birth, however it happens, it is perfect.
We are perfect just the way we are and we should stop telling ourselves or letting society tell us that we are less than that. Be kind Mama. Showing your kids kindness starts by being kind to yourself first.
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