By Danielle Silverstein of Where the Eff is My Handbook
When I was pregnant, so many people told me to avoid having a c-section at all costs. I spent nine months praying to the labor goddesses above that I would not have one. At the same time, something told me that it would be just my luck that I would.
I wound up going in to have my daughter two days before my scheduled delivery date. Heading to the hospital, I was nervous. But having gained over 50 pounds and experiencing a pregnancy ridden with complications from mental illness and ovarian cysts, I was ready to get this kid out. I wanted to eat the rawest, most dangerous sushi that Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations could feature. I wanted to make up for the nine months avoiding wine because it just wasn’t worth the sideways glances. I wanted to line up shots of vodka and follow them with as many Xanax and Zoloft as my body could physically hold (I am a trained professional…do not try this at home). I wanted to do all the questionable things I do to my body without feeling guilt because I have another human being growing inside of me (Like wtf? Who am I do be delegated that responsibility?).
The next ten hours were a nightmare. The doctors were sure that I was not in labor and I should go home. It turned out I was in labor that entire time, I just seemed to be the only one who knew it. I missed the window for the Epidural because I dilated so quickly. I pushed and pushed and there was no progress. I always knew I would be the person who actually couldn’t push something the size of a watermelon out something the size of a lemon.
Never had I felt so alone and misunderstood. No one, in the history of the world, had ever felt so much pain. This is what it must feel like to be water-boarded, whipped, punched in the face, in the nuts, and have my ankles broken simultaneously. I started begging everyone, claiming I would do anything for a c-section. I have no idea what exactly I promised everyone in that room, but I’m sure it involved acts that are illegal in most southern states. Finally, the angels appeared and rolled a wheelchair in to the room. The nurses danced me away to what would be the closest to heaven I would ever get. I was sure that all my dead relatives would be there in the operating room, waiting for me, singing Hallelujah as I entered through the gates.
They hoisted me up onto the table and I wanted to hug the anesthesiologist. I saw the needle the size of a sword from The Princess Bride, and all I could think of was, “Stick me Inigo Montoya, I am prepared.” I had to sign a document warning that I could die, be paralyzed, or have a stroke, but it all felt like a small sacrifice to the healing gods.
The needle went in and I truly, in that moment, felt such incredible bliss and euphoria. There is nothing like a moment of the most intense pain and unbearable loneliness changed into utter happiness and understanding. I lost all feeling from the neck down, and the doctors proceeded to take out my insides in order to finally lasso and capture the little human who had invaded my sanctuary and been wreaking havoc in there for so long. There you are, you little shit. I love you so much. Now someone, please bring me a bottle of wine with a long straw. No? Too soon? Damn.
I honestly don’t know why so many people told me not to have a c-section. Personally, I don’t have any interest in trying natural childbirth. There can be complications during surgery, but things can go wrong in a regular birth as well. During my pregnancy, it was almost as if people would talk about a c-section as “failing”…like if I had to have one, it would be a second class delivery or something. I completely disagree. I left the operating room and asked the nurses if it was too early to schedule the procedure for the rest of my unborn children. “No, I don’t know when they’ll be born, but just block out most of 2008 and 2011 for me, thanks.”
They rolled me into my room and I was told the best news ever: I would get to stay in the hospital for four days! That’s three extra days of free childcare, Percocet, and experts teaching my husband and I how to dress, bathe, feed, and swaddle a newborn. It was like summer camp for newbies! Ok, so I had to wear a diaper, and I’ll forever have a large scar across my lower stomach, but I was beyond happy with the way things had turned out. Everyone’s experience is different, and there is no reason any of us should feel like less of a woman for whatever ensues in our labor and delivery.
With my following pregnancies, I felt a relief in knowing what my future held concerning delivery. I looked forward to the hospital when I would sleep whenever I wanted and everyone was so nice. I’m actually bummed I’m not having more kids. Not because I want them, but because I often dream about that TV remote that never gets lost because it’s attached to the bed, and that button I can press and people just bring me shit.
So, don’t fear when having a c-section. Any situation we’re dealt is a good one, as long as we come out healthy and with a happy baby. We’re all bringing life into this world and sacrificing so much. We’re all just trying to get through it all the best way we know how.
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About the Author
Danielle Silverstein is a mom of three awesome kids and two rescue dogs. She admits she’s only one bad decision away from being the mom version of Lindsay Lohan. Her blog, Where The Eff Is My Handbook, is meant for moms who want to keep it real along this crazy journey.