The Tale of One Breeched Baby

When I learned my due date was August 1st I was elated. The day before my grandmother's birthday and my parents' wedding anniversary. I was going to have an August leo, what an exciting adventure! Being my first baby it never once occurred to me that she’d be early. As my pregnancy went on it had many ups and downs (that blog coming soon) but I anxiously and eagerly tried to manifest and envision my dream birth. I took so many classes on childbirth, newborn care, breastfeeding, and hypnobirthing. Anything I could learn I was going to, I landed on wanting an unmedicated vaginal birth. Partially because I watched WAY too much “A Birth Story” on TLC as a kid and partially because I had a deep distrust of our medical system and truly believed my body could do it. 

As my pregnancy went on I started hitting a few roadblocks for my dream birth. I learned I was going to have a small baby, she was small for gestational age (SGA) and may have been growth restricted so I would either have to push doctors to let me go to 40 weeks or follow their advice and be induced no later than 39 weeks. Here’s the thing, SGA babies don’t do great when they are induced. The choice was mine, but something I had to think about. I had time, I was about 32 weeks. Steve and I, with the advice from our doulas and hypnobirthing instructor, decided to try for a low dose induction at 39 weeks and I would do everything possible to get my body to do it on its own. We started preparing for that. Then came week 34, baby was breech. No way any doctor (or myself) would feel comfortable with a vaginal birth. I worked so hard to flip her, acupuncture, moxa, spinning babies, massage, going to the pool, anything I could try I did. At 36 weeks she was in position but by 37 was back to being breech. At that point I knew I was headed towards a c-section, it was a harsh reality. For the next two weeks we still tried to flip her, but at 38 weeks I had to let my dream go. I needed to get in the right headspace for the birth my baby, God and the universe had for me. I scheduled my c-section. 

It was scheduled for 39+2. My last appointment was at 39+0, before that appointment my mom and MIL were trying to get me to eat and as I walked out the door I told them that if the doctor wanted her out I’d let them admit me that day. I was SO over being pregnant. Well to my surprise the high risk doctor did not want me to go to 39+2 and asked me to come in as the first c-section the following day. My baby would be born at 39+1. This was the ONLY appointment my husband wasn’t with me, it was just me and my mom. I called him, he was in a meeting, so I texted him “ummm so baby is coming tomorrow…” He called me back with so many questions and I explained to him that we would be parents on Friday not Saturday. I went and got a pedicure, we all had dinner and made sure we were packed. Steve and I did our best to soak in the last few moments just us, him telling me “it’s been real paps” time and time again. Paps is one of the nicknames we have for each other. Then we went to bed. 

Our alarms rang at 4:30 the next morning. We snoozed them (being parents could wait lol) and then finally I got in the shower to clean myself with the special soap, got dressed and drove the 10 minutes to the hospital. We were SO excited. It was such a beautiful morning, the weather was perfect. Baby was coming! We got checked in, I put on the hospital gown, we chatted, we were so happy. Our birth doula showed up shortly after and we chatted with her about what was most important to me after the baby was born: do not wipe her, breastfeeding, skin to skin, golden hour was key. We then chatted about traveling, shared tips and destinations. She made sure I reminded the nurses of what was important to me. The nurses were great, everyone’s energy was high. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my baby’s life. Then it was time to go to the OR. 

Steve had to stay behind, and that was the first time I was alone. Suddenly I was so scared and so nervous. I started to cry when they had me curl my back to put the needle in to numb me. I had so many emotions, I was scared, anxious, worried, alone. Where was my husband? He makes me feel safe. Why can’t he be here? The kindest nurse (who I will admit at first I didn’t love) asked me what was wrong and held my hand. She wiped my tears and reminded me I was going to be ok. She kept me as calm as possible until they let Steve in. I also have a sneaking suspicion she advocated for them to let him in early. Finally Steve walks in, a big smile on his face and then he sees me crying and says “baby what’s wrong?!” I told him I was scared. He wiped my tears and reminded me that we make a good team, that we’ve prepared for this moment and we can do anything together, he reminded me about “solutions” - our family motto. He started playing the playlist we made to welcome our baby and asked me if I wanted to pray. I said yes. 

Surgery began, the music played, and Steve prayed. He rubbed my head, and kissed me every moment he could. Our baby was pulled out of my body to “That’s My Girl” by Fifth Harmony (the song I used to post her baby shower) and as we said amen. Out came this crying 5lb baby girl with a full head of hair. I couldn’t believe what happened. We watched as they weighed her (Steve was asked not to stand up because we were all scared he may pass out at seeing my guts everywhere) I heard that same kind nurse remind the others that I didn’t want baby wiped. They finally brought her to me, I was able to see and kiss my baby girl. She was scared, I wished I could hold her and calm her. Steve did skin to skin and she started calming down. I have a suspicion these initial moments are why she’s so obsessed with him now, and while I still wish I could have been the one to calm her I am grateful those first moments played out the way they did. 

I was stitched up, cleaned up, given my baby and rolled to the recovery area. This is where things start to change. The nurses and my doula were doing a great job at encouraging breastfeeding and skin to skin, everyone wanted me to have my golden hour. Unfortunately, my body did not react well to the anesthesia. I was VERY cold and nothing the nurses did was warming me up, as a result my baby was also getting cold. We tried everything we could but I also started getting loopy and very tired. Eventually they had to take the baby from me and to the nursery warmer to get warmed up while I was stabilized. That was so hard for me, it was heartbreaking. I felt sad but comfortable because my doula assured me it was the right thing to do, she reminded me that I needed to get better to be able to care for her. I knew she was right. Steve followed the baby, I told him that I would be ok, our doula would make sure of it and to stay with the baby. Our doula assured him she’d take care of me. Once they left my reaction got even worse. I had a horrible case of the shakes. I would doze off, stop breathing, startle awake, doze off again. It was not normal. I could not keep my eyes open, and my body would not warm up. I was so thirsty but I could not move. I remember asking my doula if I was ok. She was watching the monitors and my vitals like a hawk. She reminded me time and time again that she was watching and if anything was off she would get me help. She had to call the nurse because of my oxygen levels a couple of times. I remember laying there unable to move, unable to open my eyes, barely able to speak, feeling like I had sleep paralysis thinking to myself “the doula will not let me die, I will be ok. It is her job to make sure I live, that is why I am paying her. I trust her. She won’t let me die.”

I remember asking the doula for my phone to check my mom’s location. I wanted my mom. I was scared. My mom was at Edy’s Chicken getting one of my favorite meals for me to eat when I got a room with no idea what was going on. I put my phone away and kept focusing on breathing. The doula asked for juice and crackers (i think) she helped me get better. Finally, after what felt like hours although I have NO idea how long it actually was, my body started warming up. I could move, I could breathe better. I was getting better. Once stabilized it was time to take me to a room. My baby was still in the nursery warming up. 

I went to the room I was feeling a bit better, still a bit loopy but MUCH better. The doula was still with me. She made sure I reminded the nurses that breastfeeding was the most important thing to me. My mom, MIL and SIL seemed to come in right after I did. I shared what happened with my mom and started eating my chicken. I was told the baby was coming up soon. A few moments later in walked Steve, wheeling my baby in her bassinet. Our little family was together. I began trying to breastfeed, and was able to do skin to skin with my baby. The joy and reality of motherhood hadn’t hit me quite yet, everything felt surreal. 

That day and the next few are a bit of a blur, I look back at texts I don’t remember sending, pictures of baby that I clearly had newborn goggles on for lol and I don’t remember much. All in all, while I didn’t have the birth I wanted, I remind myself that this is MY birth story, and my baby’s birthDAY. I can’t say I am over everything that happened, I don’t know if I ever will be. Some days I feel ok with how things played out, some days I feel grateful, and others sad. I know I will need to continue to work through my feelings as time goes by, and wonder what I’ll feel comfortable doing if I have another baby. 

Either way, I got my baby, she was healthy and is thriving, and for that I am eternally grateful.