Scars that Run Deep: “All that Matters” after a Cesarean
“You have a healthy baby. That’s what matters.”
Mothers who express sadness, anger, or disappointment after undergoing a cesarean section often hear these words uttered by (presumably) well-meaning family, friends, and health care workers. In fact, these words seem to be one of the most common responses that people give upon hearing that a mother has had a cesarean. I presume this is because it can be jarring to witness the juxtaposition of the joy and wonder of a newborn life and the mother’s grief over her baby’s entrance into the world. And so, particularly in a culture that does not have a well-developed ritual for expressing and experiencing grief, people try to fill up the mother’s “empty grief jar” with an elixir of “healthy baby joy.”
But, as we all know, grief and joy don’t work like that.
In fact, for many mothers who have recently–or not so recently–had cesareans, the words, “You have a healthy baby. That’s what matters” are piercing, stinging, and even painful. They hurt because they obscure the profundity of her birth experience. They sting because they silence her emotional–and even physical–pain. And they pierce right through her heart because what she probably hears–what is unwittingly insinuated by these words–is, “Why aren’t you happy about your healthy, beautiful, miraculous baby?” And this thought–that perhaps she isn’t giving quite enough of her own happiness and joy to this tiny creature who is entirely dependent upon her–often leads to feelings of inadequacy and guilt.
In recognition of the grief of cesarean mothers, in honor of their courage, and in the spirit of Cesarean Awareness Month, I want to illuminate why having a healthy baby isn’t all that matters after a cesarean. Why mothers who mourn the loss of a vaginal birth can (and, most likely do) simultaneously celebrate their new child. And why a mother’s birth experience is part of “what matters.”
I do this with the full recognition that women who have vaginal births can experience some of the same feelings of loss and detachment that cesarean moms experience. I also fully recognize that some women who have cesareans do not experience these feelings of loss and detachment. I even recognize that not all mothers are lucky enough to hear that they do, in fact, have a healthy baby.
Nonetheless, these points do not undermine the fact that for many cesarean mothers, their pain is exacerbated by the “healthy baby line.” And their pain, their grief, requires more respect, more space, and more support than what these well-intended words can offer.
Most of what I can say in defense of this position is based on my personal–profoundly personal–experience. It is based on what I can remember, and what I can’t. It is based on what I saw, and couldn’t see during my first son’s birth. And it is based on the feelings of grief that I still–over three years later–feel over what I missed, and couldn’t see, and couldn’t do during that birth.
In fact, in order to explain why “the healthy baby line” can be so painful to a cesarean mother, it is important to examine the mother’s perspective during a cesarean.
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When a mother undergoes a cesarean, in many cases…
She is first brought into the operating room by herself. She may be surrounded by doctors and nurses, but she is temporarily separated from those whom she loves–and those who love her. In some respect, then, she is alone. And she will have received her spinal or epidural, been catheterized, draped with surgical cloths, and had her belly exposed and prepared for the surgery while she is alone.
Barring an emergency situation that requires general anesthesia, she is not joined by her partner or other support person until right before or even after the first incision is made. And what she hears in this “holding period” is often not what she imagined she would hear right before her baby was born: not “You can do it!” or “S/he’s almost here” or even “Push!” Instead she hears: “Scalpel. Incision. Suction.”
If she prefers, she may also hear the anesthesiologist (or even the obstetrician) explain to her what is happening during the surgery and what to expect (“lots of pressure”) once the obstetrician extracts the baby. Some mothers have even requested mirrors so that they can view the surgery. Either of these options can be very comforting to a mother who wants to experience her child’s birth as much as she possibly can. Nonetheless, both options still underscore the passivity of her birth experience. The anesthesiologist informs her of what they are doing to remove the baby. The mirror reflects what is being done to her to bring her baby out of the uterus. And she is literally paralyzed (at least partially) as her child is born.
If the baby is expected to be healthy, the mother may get to see the baby held over the surgical screen for a few seconds (sometimes a split second) before the baby is taken to another area of the room to be monitored. In some cases, she cannot see the area where the monitoring is taking place. And by the time the baby is handed to her partner, she is the last of all of the people in the operating room to examine and touch her baby–the baby whom she has carried and been as physically close as is humanly possible for the past nine months.
In many cases, the baby is taken to a separate nursery for additional monitoring while the mother’s incision is being repaired. Many mothers request that their partner accompany the baby to the nursery, if possible. (This is her first act of parental self-sacrifice after the baby is born.) Except in the rare cases where an additional support person has been allowed to enter the operating room, she is, once again, separated from those who love her. More importantly, she is now separated from her baby, after only meeting him or her for mere moments. And this part of the cesarean–the suturing–is the longest part of the surgery.
She is wheeled into a recovery room, and, unless she has additional family and friends available to her in recovery, or unless her baby’s monitoring is complete, she is essentially ”alone” except for a nurse and possibly her obstetrician or anesthesiologist.
The baby’s arrival in recovery often coincides with the wearing off of the spinal or epidural medication. If the mother did not experience labor before the cesarean, this is the most physically painful part of her child’s birth–and it is also, in most cases, her first chance to hold her baby.
She will probably first hold her baby while lying down or reclining. (Worth noting is that this occurs at least an hour after the baby is born.) This is because cradling the baby while sitting up puts pressure on the incision site, which can be extremely painful.
Because of the narcotics used in the spinal or epidural, and because of the intravenous pain medications the mother receives after the surgery, the mother may feel nauseous, groggy, and/or sleepy. Weeks, months, or even years later, she may realize that she does not even vividly remember holding her baby for the first time.
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This account is, of course, all-too-brief and incomplete. It does not include the challenge of attempting to care for a newborn while being immobilized for the hours after the baby’s birth. It does not include difficulty the mother experiences when she attempts to walk for the first time twelve hours after major abdominal surgery. It does not include the four to six weeks of recovery that she endures, limiting her ability to cough, shower, brush her teeth, walk up and down stairs, and roll over in bed without pain. And it does not account for the variations of cesarean experiences–the potential complications that can arise during the surgery, the potential reactions to the anesthesia, or even the instances in which the mother cannot truly meet her child until hours or days after the cesarean.
But what it does offer is a glimpse at just how much a cesarean birth can be marked by passivity and separation. No matter how a mother has envisioned the birth of her baby, she has most likely envisioned it as the day she meets her baby. And while not every mother dreams of being active during her child’s birthday, most mothers do not imagine feelings of separation as being central to their birth experience.
One may wonder why this experience produces lasting negative feelings about the baby’s birth, however. Why is it so difficult for many mothers to “move past” their disappointment or sadness or anger and “just be happy” about their new baby?
First, I should point out that being happy–even overjoyed–about one’s baby does not mean that one cannot also be sad about the way that baby entered the world. We are complex creatures who are able to feel conflicting emotions simultaneously. And while one should always be vigilant about monitoring a mother for signs of postpartum depression or even post-traumatic stress disorder, this does not mean that one should encourage a mother to suppress her grief over a cesarean–even if that cesarean was absolutely necessary and/or life-saving.
But this is exactly what the “healthy baby line” suggests. “You have a healthy baby. That’s what matters. [The way your baby entered the world does not matter. The pain and sadness you may experience now does not matter or is in regard to something that does not matter.]“ This may not be what is spoken to a cesarean mother, but this is what she may infer when she hears that “all that matters” is her healthy baby.
In addition, the de-valuing of the mother’s birth experience–a de-valuing implied by the “healthy baby line”–undermines the significance of one of the most transformative days of a mother’s life. For on the same day that her baby is born, she is “born” as a mother. And if this dual-birth is marked by passivity and separation, then it is no wonder that the mother grieves her birth experience. That having her healthy, miraculous, wonderful baby is not all that matters to her.
In fact, her sadness is partially a result of being separated from her healthy, miraculous, wonderful baby during the first few moments and even hours of that baby’s life. And it can be the result of a feeling that her body is “broken,” “unable” to bring her child into the world on its own. And it can be the result of a feeling that her body might not even “know” how to work properly to bring a child into the world. And it can be the result of feeling as if she has disappointed not only herself but also her partner and/or other friends and family. And it can be the result of the sheer difficulty of recovering from major abdominal surgery and simultaneously caring for a newborn baby, two of the most physically and emotionally demanding experiences that any person will ever undergo.
In other words, her sadness and her grief are understandable. They are normal.
So instead of telling a cesarean mother–or any mother expressing disappointment over her birth experience–that a “healthy baby is all that matters,” acknowledge her feelings and provide her with a supportive space to express these feelings. Instead of using the “healthy baby elixir” in order to eliminate her grief, remind her of her courage and her strength in order to allow her to work with and through her grief. Allow her to share her story–negative and feelings and all–so that she can properly process her experience. And continue to marvel at her miraculous, wonderful, and, hopefully, healthy baby so that her joy can be reflected by and even increased in the faces and words of others who meet this new life.
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For more tips on physical and emotional recovery after a cesarean, please see ICAN’s resources on cesarean recovery (including a section on breastfeeding after a cesarean).
For a look at how a cesarean section can be different–and how many cesareans are different–please also check out ICAN’s resource on the Family Centered Cesarean.
[...] the blog Birthing Beautiful Ideas wrote an amazingly insightful and moving must read post entitled, “Scars That Run Deep: ‘All That Matters’ After A Cesarean” that explores this very [...]
[...] Posted on April 27, 2009 by Kathy As Cesarean Awareness Month draws to a close, here is a very deep and thoughtful post on the phrase that makes so many C-section moms shudder — “At least you have a healthy [...]
What a beautiful post! I am currently 31 weeks pregnant with my third child, planning my second VBAC. Something I’ve noticed in friends and family is the attitude, or belief, that by choosing to have a VBAC I still haven’t “gotten over” my c-section. That hurts. No, I *haven’t* gotten over it, but I didn’t make good choices with my first child and I’m trying (SO hard!) to make better choices for my other children.
Thank you for writing this. I have a three week, two day old happy, healthy baby, who was brought into the world via c-section after 26 hours of labor at home. This post speaks to much of my experience and to how I have been dealing or not dealing with a lot of it.
VBAC Warrior–thank you so much for your comment. I think it’s difficult for a lot of people to realize that c-sections aren’t really something to be “gotten over.” I still feel some grief over mine and actually felt it most acutely *after* my VBAC, when I realized how much I had missed out on after my first son was born.
Wishing you a successful, triumphant VBAC!!
Citysteader–I’m honored and humbled to hear that this post speaks to your experience. The healing process (both physically and emotionally) takes time, and it is completely normal to feel lots of conflicting emotions all at once, especially when you are also trying to adjust to life with a new baby in the house.
Congratulations on your new baby!!
Lovely post!
Thank you so much for posting this! I was having a very hard time getting my mother (who is an L&D nurse at a large hospital) to understand why having c/sections was causing me so much pain. As soon as she read this article, she sent it out to the nurse’s desk so that others could also read it. It may have been a small step, but I hope that it helps other moms out there who have c-sections, if in no other way than helping the nurses who are with them throughout the process understand what may be happening for those moms.
Shannon–*wow*, that means so much to me. I really had no idea who would read this essay when I wrote it, and the fact that not only you and your mother but also other women (moms, nurses, etc.) are taking something from it is amazing. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me!
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Birthra and Sarah, Amanda Kenworthy. Amanda Kenworthy said: RT @starrymom: Best post ever! // Scars that run deep: "all that matters" after a cesarean http://bit.ly/bqAe90 via @kristen_bbi [...]
And why a mother’s birth experience is part of “what matters.” I do this with the full recognition that women who have vaginal births can experience some of the same feelings of loss and detachment that cesarean moms experience. I also fully recognize that some women who have cesareans do not experience these feelings of loss and detachment.
I had two children and both experiences sucked. Thomas was a vaginal birth. I had no problems. But he was born at 5:42am – and I didn’t lay eyes on him until almost twelve hours later. By then, he’d been changed several times and had been given bottles. Totally unacceptable. Tayler was a c-section. He was full breech. I didn’t see him for almost twelve hours, either.
What gets me is that I hear women say they can’t imagine having children any other way other than c-section – it’s so easy they say.
My c-section will be nineteen years old on April 27th (2010). It still gives me pain. It’s a vertical cut to boot – and I found out last year a long list of reasons why I should never have been given a vertical cut and how rare they are. People try to tell me it shouldn’t still hurt. Even doctors. Well. It does. It’s my body, and I think I know I’m in pain. Right? :/
Anyway. I got here via @starrymom. Keep up the work you’re doing. And I’ll keep reading.
.-= mari adkins´s last blog ..work in progress =-.
Thank you for putting into words what I haven’t been able to express since my c-section 2 1/2 years ago. The below paragraph was particularly meaningful to me:
In fact, for many mothers who have recently–or not so recently–had cesareans, the words, “You have a healthy baby. That’s what matters” are piercing, stinging, and even painful. They hurt because they obscure the profundity of her birth experience. They sting because they silence her emotional–and even physical–pain. And they pierce right through her heart because what she probably hears–what is unwittingly insinuated by these words–is, “Why aren’t you happy about your healthy, beautiful, miraculous baby?”
Thank you, Kiki. Writing this piece was cathartic for me, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know that it has been helpful to other women as well.
A friend of mine found this and shared it. I celebrate my son’s 1-year birthday in just a few weeks, so his birth has been on my mind a lot. I grew up thinking “it won’t happen to me. I’ll push my babies out just like my mom did.” Well, the Lord had other plans I guess! After 19 hours of labor, I just couldn’t get to a full 10 cm and had a big baby who was not going to fit… after a few pushing attempts my doctor said it just wasn’t worth risking damage to my cervix and said we should proceed with a c-section. I didn’t get upset then, but when the (way-worse-than-expected) recovery really made the first 6 weeks brutal, I got very upset. I was in great shape and not used to feeling so weak and helpless. Thank God for several friends who had c-sections too, because my mom didn’t really know how to console me. She never had to experience that. I think every woman should read this article! So helpful!
Nicely said…I had a C-section after a previous vaginal birth and it was an emergency. I never thought about a c-section even though I was a L&D nurse.
Reva Rubin had a theory about the post partum period. She believed in three phases, Taking in, Taking Hold and Letting go.
I believe that is what you are describing here. Unfortunately, Reva’s theory is not talked about much any more since everyone is supposed to “take-hold” and “let-go” in rapid succession and ‘taking-in’ is all but forgotten.
Thank you for post…very important information. We need to give a mom time to ‘take-hold’ and listen,listen, listen to her.
Lorette, I will certainly check out Reva Rubin’s work. Processing any birth experience can be quite a task, and many women simply don’t get the kind, open, non-judgmental spaces they need in order to do this processing. Thanks for sharing!
I had a c section and my experience was nothing like this. My husband was with me the whole time. He even videoed the birth of our son (not sure if he was allowed to or not.. but we did!). I got to hold the baby on my chest after they cleaned him up and after I was closed I transferred to the other bed and then I held him the entire time. I was never apart from him. After we got back to my room I was able to breastfeed him. It was about 45 minutes to an hour afterward. He never left me even though the nurses kept telling me he could go to the nursery. He did go to the nursery once for 20 minutes so they could do some tests I guess, but I started getting antsy after 10 minutes and they brought him back promptly. They never gave him a bottle. I was able to attend the circumcision. I just wanted to say that not all c section stories are bad ones. And some of it happens to be the hospital or Dr’s that make it a bad experience, not just the procedure. The recovery was very very painful and hard and I would have preferred to have a vaginal delivery but I can’t go back now. My son wasn’t tolerating labor and I wasn’t dilating after my water breaking on it’s own. I am pregnant again and due in Nov and I am scared now to have a VBAC. I feel like I should want to have a VBAC but I will be electing to have a c section.
Anna, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that c-section experiences like yours are becoming more and more common. (Though I am surprised that they let your husband back for the spinal, unless you already had an epidural in place…) Have you seen any literature on Family Centered Cesareans? ICAN has a great resource on it: http://www.ican-online.org/pregnancy/family-centered-cesarean.
I also completely understand that not all c-sections are negative experiences (and I even mention this in this post). My main reason for writing this piece was to inform people about why some women feel so negatively about these experiences.
On a final note, I wish you all the best in your upcoming birth! The decision to plan a VBAC or a repeat cesarean is wholly unique and personal for each individual woman: it should reflect not what she thinks she should do but what her own values, preferences, fears, and risk tolerance are. And I think all women should get the accurate information and support and respect needed to make this decision–as long as they have these things, their ultimate choice shouldn’t really matter.
My cesarean wasn’t like this either. I held my daughter 15 minutes after delivery, and I never felt at all alone.
But I still had a lot of complex feelings to work through afterwards. I think it doesn’t just have to be the mechanics of the delivery, but also just the jarring realization that things aren’t happening the way you thought they would. Even if the things that are happening aren’t bad things. No one in my family had ever had a cesarean, none of my friends had, I had put all this effort into preparing for a vaginal birth, and I thought I was SET, you know?It couldn’t happen to me. But it DID.
If someone knocked on your door and said you needed an appendectomy and 10 minutes later you were in an operating room, that’d be a big deal too, no matter how well the surgery went. That’s about how I felt. I just never saw it coming. I probably should have, but I didn’t. Everyone had me convinced if I prepared and if I was educated and if I wanted it bad enough, I could have the birth I wanted. Unfortunately, life is not so cut and dried!
The appendectomy analogy work fairly well, I think. At the very least, it sheds light on how jarring the reality of an unplanned cesarean can be for some women.
I too share your dislike for people who explicitly state–or even suggest–that preparation and education and “wanting it bad enough” will make a person have the birth that they want. (This is one of the reasons that I like to call birth plans “birth preference lists”: it’s great to research birth options and to articulate your preferences, but there’s no way to completely plan a birth, even if one chooses an elective cesarean section!) And I did have the birth that I wanted, but I know that this was both because of my preparation and because of A LOT of luck.
Thank you so much for posting this. I had an emergency c section and for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why I felt the detachment from my baby girl. I’m definitely grieving in silence about the experience and can’t have anymore children. So I sometimes feel jealous of other mothers who were able to deliver vaginally. Thanks again.
[...] Scars that Run Deep: “All that Matters” After A Cesarean. April is Cesarean Awareness month. In its honor, and in honor of all Cesarean mothers, read this post. It addresses the sentiment so familiar to C-section mamas — You have a healthy baby — that’s all that matters! — and explores “why having a healthy baby isn’t all that matters after a cesarean. Why mothers who mourn the loss of a vaginal birth can (and, most likely do) simultaneously celebrate their new child. And why a mother’s birth experience is part of ‘what matters.’” (Kristen Oganowski, PhD Candidate, Birthing Beautiful Ideas) [...]
Thank you for this. I had pre-eclampsia and had to deliver my baby girl via c-section at 30 weeks. Im still so upset that it happened that way, and that I didnt get to do something so simple as give her a kiss before they rushed her to the NICU. We are so lucky that we ‘have a healthy baby’ because so many things could have gone wrong. It was an emergency c-section and was the best thing for both of us..but I wish things could have gone differently. I didnt get to meet her until she was three days old, and I didnt get to hold her for another two. That was the hardest thing in my life. This post really hit close to home.
So Thank you.
Nicole, I’m so glad that this has helped you in whatever way it has. Yours is a perfect example of where a mother can feel absolutely overjoyed by the health of her baby, and by the technology that helped to keep that baby healthy, but also disappointed/confused/angry/sad about the way her baby was born into the world. Healthy babies and healthy mothers matter most of all, but birth matters too.
Well said and thank you!
The passivity you speak of becomes disempowerment emotionally. This is often so deeply held that we don’t notice it, especially if no one is interested in hearing all the other feelings above it.
I imagine there is some difference depending on elective/emergency. But there really ought to be some follow up emotional care, that there isn’t is probably a reflection of how little value our emotional lives are given. This is I think the reason people only want to focus on “healthy baby” because we are unpracticed and not very good at being present to other people’s grief, anger and sadness.
Christina
Thankyou thankyou thankyou. Tears are flowing as I read your description of my son’s birth 8 months ago. I wasn’t allowed to hold my son – he was taken away to be checked, then someone awkwardly held him on my chest for about a minute before I was separated for an hour. Like you describe, left alone. I didn’t expect after 40 hours of labour (followed by CS) for my son to be out of my sight at all, let alone my husband too. So it felt for that time post caesarian that I had gone through 40 hours of labour and still I didn’t have a baby.
Thankyou.
I just wanted to add, I got my husband to read this too – it has really helped him understand what I am going through. So thankyou again.
Emily, I am so touched that this post has helped you. It really was cathartic for me when I wrote it, and it makes my heart swell to hear that it helps with anyone’s healing. And it is a process. Be gentle with yourself, and take all the time you need to heal. (And, if you haven’t already, check and see if there is a local ICAN chapter in your area. I know that they helped me tremendously with cesarean recovery. http://www.ican-online.org)
I still find it strange that there is such an obsession with this whole natural vs. c-section debate. I think the ‘at least they are healthy’ thing IS a cop-out that makes women feel bad, but where is the mention of what happens when you DON’T get a healthy baby? Do these women who have to have c-sections and make a big deal about their “lost” birth experiences even consider how women who don’t have a “healthy baby” feel when they hear such things? They obviously haven’t given any thought to the way a mother feels when she looks down at her scar and has no baby to hold at all. Missing out on “natural” birth is not a tragedy when you stack it up against losing your baby, no matter how you delivered them.
I actually did make mention of the fact that not all women have a healthy baby. But it would have seemed a little insensitive, both to those hurt by the “healthy baby line” and to those who don’t have healthy babies, to make this blog post about BOTH, wouldn’t it?
I’m also a little bothered by any attempts to pit different types of pain against one another. Of course losing a baby is far more tragic and devastating that losing a birth experience. But should there be a competition between these pains? Should we tell people experiencing lesser pains to “suck it up” because others have experienced far worse? Absolutely not. (Though I would agree that we should always be mindful of the ways and forums in which we express our pain and grief.)
First of all, I would like to say I thoroughly enjoyed your article. I thought it made a really good point about the importance of acknowledging the feelings of disappointment women can feel after having to have a c-section when they would have much rather had a natural birth. I totally agree with the fact that we shouldn’t treat women as though they should just sweep their feelings under the carpet and act happy no matter what.
I think the main thing I took issue with was the fact that the article had many references to grief and loss that I found a little insensitive. Also, from the perspective of a woman who had to have an emergency c-section after failing to deliver naturally AND lost my baby at 6 months old, some of these references sounded a little exaggerated. I just don’t feel like it is necessarily the best way to encourage people to help women with their feelings of disappointment.
Of course, women who are disappointed over having to have a c-section would agree whole-heartedly with the points made in the article. I think, however, some people reading it (including those who are trying to understand what to do) may feel that some of these references to grief and sadness are making more out of the issue than there really is. I don’t feel like making having a c-section into such a tragic-sounding event is the best way to help others understand and help mothers work through their feelings of disappointment. If others feel as though they can’t possibly understand what the mother is going through, or offer any words of encouragement, support or positive thoughts (such as, “modern medicine has provided you and your baby with a safe and healthy entrance into the world”) they may not feel as though they can do anything at all. This is usually a feeling reserved for people who have to watch someone they love and care for go through something like losing a baby, this is usually when people feel helpless and like they can’t do anything to ease your pain. This is not how people should feel when a woman feels disappointed over having a c-section. They should feel like their words, help, support and encouragement, in any form, should mean something in helping a woman through her feelings of disappointment.
I also take issue with the fact that you said you mentioned women who lose their babies. This is the ONE sentence in the article where you mentioned anything close: “I even recognize that not all mothers are lucky enough to hear that they do, in fact, have a healthy baby”. As someone who did lose their baby, I found this sentence flippant and insensitive. It was like a disclaimer excluding mothers who don’t have healthy babies from this issue. I was definitely not in any way trying to pit my “pain” against others “pain”, and I certainly didn’t say anything about telling people to “suck it up”. In fact, I just pointed out that maybe focussing on it as “pain” is a little over-dramatic.
Isn’t the point of having a c-section to produce a healthy mother and a healthy baby? Isn’t the point of getting pregnant and giving birth to have a healthy baby? Isn’t focussing on the fact that you and the baby are both healthy a constructive part of the process of dealing with feelings of disappointment?
I guess it’s all about perspective. If you haven’t experienced a significant “tragedy” or “loss”, such as losing a child, I guess you can look at having a c-section as a very difficult emotional experience that would take a long time to “get over”. No-one close to me has ever told me to “just get over” the loss of my son. I think that’s because it’s something you can NEVER get over, or “eliminate the grief(1)” of. Personally, the disappointment I felt having an emergency c-section after desperately wanting to give birth naturally, pales in comparison to the ‘pain, anger, sadness and grief” (2) I experience EVERY DAY over losing my son.
Once again, I think you have made an excellent point about the need to acknowledge women’s feelings of disappointment after having a c-section, I just don’t think that using terms usually reserved for significant tragedies, constructive in helping others understand and assist in the process of overcoming such disappointment. I’m sorry for such a long reply, but I really wanted to clarify what I was trying to point out with my initially short comment. It was obvious from your response that I failed to accurately convey my meaning.
1 – 6th last line of your article states this as what people think women should do, I’m just pointing out that it’s a grief people think is possible to deal with, unlike people’s usual reaction to the grief over death
2 – All four of these words were used to describe the feelings of a woman who has had a c-section throughout your article. The word “grief” appeared at least 5 times.
Louisa, I do want to express how deeply sorry I am about your loss. “Deeply sorry” doesn’t even seem to cut it.
I just wanted to reach out to let you know that I in no way intended for my article to be mean or insensitive to those who have lost a child. I can see how you might take my one sentence acknowledgement of this loss as a complete write-off of those who have experienced this loss: it was a brief acknowledgement, yes, but brief because it wasn’t the focus of my post. (And if I could have written a chapter, or a book, on this topic, I would certainly have devoted more than a sentence!)
I think I can also see how you would take issue with my use of the terms ‘grief, pain, sadness, and anger.’ (Not that you claimed that I used this, but I did not use the word ‘tragedy’ in this context.) But from my experience working with some women who are processing their cesarean experiences–and, as I mention, certainly not all do–they have used these terms to describe their experience. And because they do, I found it fitting to use these very terms in my post. Again, this is not to diminish the pain, grief, sadness, and anger of those who have experienced losses on a different level–losses on a completely different level. And this is probably why I framed the end of this discussion in terms of a trajectory toward focusing on the joy of a healthy baby. This is a significantly different type of pain, anger, grief, and sadness than one that doesn’t, or even cannot, accommodate such a trajectory.
I guess my main point was just this: if you/she feels pain, acknowledge it for what it is. It’s the only way you/she will ever be to process it. Pain and grief and loss aren’t for comparing, nor are they for competing. And pain and grief can (and should) coexist with joy and gratefulness (i.e. over how “modern medicine has provided you and your baby with a safe and healthy entrance into the world”) when it is appropriate. And when they cannot, we should respond with the right sort of sensitivity and thoughtfulness to this pain. (And this is why I would NEVER post this article on an infant loss or similar forum!)
I do want to thank you for sharing your critique here. It has certainly given me a lot to think about, especially in terms of how I write about this topic in future posts.
For anyone who has experienced any sort of perinatal loss (including miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss), I do recommend the site Unspoken Grief. It is a tremendous resource and supportive, safe space.
I had a c-section 7 weeks ago because baby was breech. The experience was actually good, compared to a lot of womens’ – my husband was there right throughout (he held me during the spinal), & even though the spinal went too high & paraylsed my arms, they put baby on my chest once we were in recovery. But when I compare it to the 5 hr labour with my son (my oldest), & how empowered it made me feel – I did it without drugs, touched him while he was emerging, & was walking round with zero pain 40mins later – I feel so helplessly angry. My scar is hard & ugly & needs to be massaged to soften the scar tissue (ouch!), sex hurts my pelvic region, I can’t lift my son, and worst, I feel like my daughter’s birth wasn’t even a birth, but a medical procedure I had nothing to do with…and people tell me all that matters is a healthy baby. I hate that. Of course that is the most important thing, but not the only important thing. I matter too, and my feelings matter. Maybe as I heal I’ll feel more positive about it, but right now I feel like having to have a c section has tainted my wonderful daughter’s birth. Its been really hard to experience joy and grief and anger at the same time. Anyway, sorry for rambling, and thank you so much for writing this post. It helps to know Im not the only mum who has felt this way.
I’m not even sure how I “stumbled” across your amazing blog….a click here…another click there…..6 or 7 new “pages” pulled up on my screen as now I type with vision that is blurred from my tears. I feel like this is “my story”….the voice I have called for…the words I’ve longed to find on my own to explain why I have 4 precious and amazing children, but somehow don’t feel complete….why I feel a bit of envy when a reality show, a magazine, a facebook post, or a sign up page for lamaze classes makes me bite my lower lip as emotions deep within me begin to bubble up.
It’s been 4 major surgeries, 4 “c-sections”, that have brought my babies, ages 8, 6, 2 1/2 and 3 months, into the world. I learned after my 2nd…the first of my 2 precious girls, that it was better to just push any feelings of sadness, anger, jealousy or bitterness way down inside myself, as there was no way anyone on earth would ever understand why I’d have any reason to be sad. I’ve heard it all now….”It’s the way he/she was meant to be born”, “it’s safer this way”, and of course the “healthy baby” comments in every form they could ever be fashioned in.
i do admit that my 3rd and 4th were “better” than the first 2, in that the babies were kept in the room with me, and I should be happy about that, right? So why am I so sad? Why do I feel like this is such a big part of the depression I struggle with? I get angry, and think, “All of my pregnancies were rough…plagued with hyperemesis that left me hospitalized in each of the first trimesters, hypertension in three pregnancies that left me bedrested, and heart palpatations that frightened loved ones, and scared me to death.”
So why couldn’t I have just one delivery that I felt in control of? Just one in which I felt like my body “worked”? One in which my husband was able to look at me in awe, and say “You did it!” Just once….where MY hands were the first to touch my little miracle….where they felt the closeness of my body….where the first time their mama held them, it wasn’t when they were wrapped up tight in 2 or 3 hospital blankets.
Today, I live with quite a bit of abdominal pain, and a body that looks as if it has been through a war. I now suffer from fibromyalgia, and am convinced it is because of the trauma my body has endured. Doctors I met with did not “advise” that i have a 3rd child, and less than thrilled when I had my 4th! If only I had met a couple of friends I now have, who are both doulas, have had home births, one who’s 2nd, 3rd, 4th…and someday 5th children have been “VBAC’s”
I do a lot of “coulda, woulda, shoulda”, about so many things….but I can’t change what is. What I can do now is deal with the grief, the feelings I have allowed to become buried inside as if they were “wrong”.
I’m not even sure how I “stumbled” across your amazing blog….but doing so is getting me one step closer to the happiness I know I deserve.
Bless you for sharing your story!
Lots of big (((hugs))) to you, Michelle. Healing, both physically and emotionally, takes time and space and lots and lots of being gentle with yourself.
Have you checked out The International Cesarean Awareness Network (ICAN, http://www.ican-online.org) or sought out a local ICAN chapter? They are a TREMENDOUS resource for women healing from cesarean sections, in every sense of the word ‘heal.’
It was great to find the link to this blog on another site. Son no 2 is due in a few days, and I’m hoping for a calm and successful VBAC. Son no 1 was an emergeny c-section and I was not prepared for the full horror of it – it has meant so much to actually read someone writing honestly about the shock, the separation, and the just ‘not fully knowing’ what is going on, and the often ignored stress created by insensitive family members and acquaintances who choose to comment on your ‘failure’ as a woman to produce child naturally (mothers, you should support your daughters when they have children, not belittle them, and gloat over the ‘gossip’ milage you think you get from their experiences).
Three years on and I still have a very tightly tucked in scar that creates burning sensations when the weather is too hot or cold, when I stretch too far, move too much, or the waistline of my clothes settles against it (which is frequent) – this is normal for a C-section, but if I had listened solely to the hospital’s glib advice, I’d have panicked that it was not healing properly or even ripping on many occasions!
Now to the more serious point, it brought a few tears to my eyes reading this blog and the comments, as finally I read something that honestly related my own experiences so well, without glossing over a notion of ‘minor physical discomfort for 6 weeks’ and then making the ‘routine surgery’ point. Words that actually describe the emotional stress of an unplanned caesarean, the guilt you feel towards your child and the separation anxiety.
I went in for routine heart-monitoring 10 days overdue, and they decided to induce ‘to be on the safe side’. After more than 22 hours of attempting to induce birth (painful and exhausting), and debates about my son’s position -was he stuck at that angle? , his heart rate dipped terrifyingly and suddenly. Alarms went off everywhere, but there was no anaesthetist. My guilt was awful as 10 minutes earlier I had opted to carry on trying induction for a little longer, rather than opt for a c-section then, because I was scared of risks to the baby.
I was not prepared for the agonising wait for anaesthetist and theatre, and the separation from my husband, leaving us both in tears, fearing we had lost our child. When we were spoken to again and my husband was allowed into the theatre, we were assured it was a routine operation: all would be fine, and we shouldn’t worry so much. The silence as they lifted my son out was the longest and worst moment – we were so frightened that we had lost him. At that stage we did not know that resuscitation tends to be par for the course with c-sections as the fluid is not squeezed out of the baby’s lungs. The moment he did cry is my most poignant memory of his birth. He cried all afternoon, all night, and all the next day, and for the first 12 hours I could not comfort him properly due to the epidural – only watch helplessly as midwives walked him up and down and bottle fed him. The next afternoon his breathing became rapid, we asked someone to look at him and were told he was fine. While I went to the toilet just afer this, someone else took a look, and he was rushed down to the Special Care Unit with my husband (more separation guilt). There, we waited for a consultant to talk to us, as our child was taken to another room for tests. We waited in a cheerless room with a box of tissues on the table, where the consultant told us they had to perform tests, needed our consent for the tests, and mentioned that the worst might happen.
The tests showed sepsis. The consultant wanted to prescribe penicillin, and fully laboured the point that alternative medicines that would act in the same way would cost the NHS more money. My main reaction to penicillin traces is notable breathing difficulties – one of our son’s main symptoms and I fought tooth and nail saying I did not want him to have penicillin – it was too great a risk for an allergic reaction to be overlooked as symptoms of his sepsis and fluid on the lungs. Luckily, he was okay and was only in the unit for a few days, but I felt helpless and awkward, and isolated from him – alongside the out-of-control feelings you get after a c-section partly from the physical shock and partly from the morphine – cold sweats, high temperature, dizziness, shakes and confusion.
Long term, perhaps this has only made our bond stronger, but the experience is one I hope dearly to never have to go through again.
Many ((hugs)) to you, UKMum. That certainly sounds like an emotionally stressful experience–and one that DOES deserve compassionate and understanding responses to what you were going through.
Wishing you a beautiful, peaceful birth this next time around. Please feel free to come back and share when baby #2 arrives!
Thank you for so eloquently putting into words the emotions I’ve felt following my LO’s birth.
Even 37 years later I occasionally get that feeling, that deep twinge of regret and grief. Thankfully my husband was with me through it all and his precious love has helped me on the way!
What a wonderful post! Thank you very much for writing it. Reading it it was like reading my own thoughts. The emotions we went through after Cesarean (and what we always would) are sometimes hard to explain. But you did it…
Thank you…
Thank you for this post and this blog. I love the work you’re doing to empower women.
You wrote, “Weeks, months, or even years later, she may realize that she does not even vividly remember holding her baby for the first time.” I’d just like to add that this can sometimes be the case even for a vaginal birth, even for a drug-free labor. I chose an out-of-hospital birth — and I haven’t regretted it for an instant! — but my labor was long and difficult, and I never got that post-delivery “high” that so many in the natural childbirth (NCB) community talk about. Instead, after hours of the worst pain I could have imagined (due to a persistent cervical lip), I blacked out while my midwife administered a shot of Pitocin to stop my hemorrhaging. In the days and weeks that followed, I felt like I had been hit by a train, and cried and cried and cried while my precious daughter kept losing weight because she just couldn’t latch, despite the assistance of midwives, doulas, and lactation consultants. (We eventually got an “okay” latch that is still painful after 6 months of nursing.)
I sometimes feel a bit betrayed; I did everything “right” and the NCB rhetoric made me believe that (1) labor wasn’t painful, it was “intense;” (2) immediately after birth I would get an unbelievable high just from being able to bond immediately; (3) nursing would be easy and intuitive since my baby wasn’t full of drugs. Knowing what I now know, I still wouldn’t change a thing about my birth choices! But I really wish I would have been better prepared for a birth that didn’t fit the pattern of the silent, peaceful waterbirth videos I watched in eager anticipation of my own.
Brooke, you have touched on such a sensitive and exceedingly important issue here. YES. A million times yes. I wish that all of the absolutism and generalizations that go on within any perspectives on birth would just stop. And stop completely.
Thank you so much for sharing your story here.
[...] wrote about statements such as this one a long time ago. In [...]