I've written a lot about my desires for childbirth and the events that actually unfolded. When I was in the hospital, I was in a daze and so happy to have Lily that I wasn't really hit by why happened. I was okay with it. I didn't really have to deal with it. I thought I was fine. And then reality checked in and everything that happened hit me with the force of a dozen semis at the same time.
I wasn't okay with what happened or how it did. I was traumatized by the events of that morning. All of my hopes and dreams that I'd been building up since I was 6 years old were ripped out of my hands. I didn't get a vaginal birth. Hell, I wasn't even conscious for the birth. All of that was taken from me in the harshest, most difficult, scariest situation imaginable. I underwent major surgery that, while unlikely, carries a risk of death. I didn't get to talk to Matthew between the decision that I would have a c-section and when they put me under. Those two things together made the last thought I had before I was put out, "I am going to die and I'm not going to get to tell Matthew I love him." Try walking away from that without being traumatized.
So when I tell people my story and they say, "Well at least you have a happy, healthy baby! That's the important thing!" it's like a dagger through me. It's like being told that my story doesn't matter, that what I went through doesn't matter. That it shouldn't be a big deal to me because I'm alive and Lily is alive. Yes, I have a beautiful, wonderful daughter who I couldn't possibly love more if I tried. Yes, my physical recovery has been a breeze. But I matter. My story matters. My mental and emotional recovery has hardly just begun. The fact that I will never be the same, not only because I have a child now but because I walked away from her birth with PTSD, is important. It matters.
I thank God every day for Lily, but I also ask him for answers every day. Why me? What did I do? What could I have done differently? I've all but gone through every single day of my pregnancy thinking about all the choices I made and the things that I could or should have done differently - that I will try my damnedest to do differently the next time around. I'm not even sure I'm confident in my body's ability to do the thing it was literally built for - to carry and birth children. Every day I ask myself why I was so confident - borderline cocky, really. I feel like I'm being punished for so confidently going after what I wanted. For defying the odds in this day and age of medicalized birth. I hate what I had to go through. I hate that I will have a physical reminder every time I look in the mirror and see that damned scar.
I hate that I have flashbacks of staring up into the lights thinking I'm going to die and that it keeps me up at night. I hate that I have this beautiful, amazing child that I got to grow inside of me and sometimes just looking at her sends me into fits of tears because I couldn't give her the gift of a totally natural childbirth. And I hate knowing that if she's ever diagnosed with asthma or any number of other conditions, I'm going to blame myself all over again because of the c-section. I'll always wonder if it would be different if I'd had my natural birth. I don't know if I'll ever be able to accept that it wasn't my fault. I'm sure that it was. I'm sure there's something I could have done differently. Even if I successfully VBAC next time, I'm still going to hate that I couldn't have that the first time around.
I know that with childbirth and new babies, it's so common to hear/say that having a healthy baby is all that matters. It's really not. The mother matters and her experiences matter. And if the birth is everything she never wanted, don't disregard her and her experiences.
Having a happy, healthy baby is wonderful, but it's definitely not the only important thing nor is it the only thing that matters.
(Disclaimer: I know that most people say this as a silver lining and it's not an intentional dig at me. I'm just relaying how it feels to me in my current not-at-all rational mental state. This isn't intended to be a dig at anyone, I just needed to get it out.)
Hey Kelsey, I can't begin to imagine what you went through, or what you are still going through for that matter. I do hope you won't drive yourself crazy asking "why." I hope this won't give offense, but reading your post I thought of a prayer written by John Henry Newman that I've turned to when I was questioning why things happen, and thought I'd share it in hopes it will do you as much good as it's done me in the past. (The last paragraph is actually what came to mind.)
ReplyDelete“God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.
He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work.
I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place,
while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments.
Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.”
That really is perfect for what I'm struggling with. Thank you!
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