Feeling Like a Failure: My Birth Story

My birth story is long, traumatic, and overall sucky, so if you are pregnant and want butterflies and rainbows, you should probably move along. Did you know 25% of all births in the United States are done via induction? I am one of that 25%, one of the ¼, who went through with an induction to deliver my son. I was 40 weeks on the nose when Hurricane Michael tore through the Florida panhandle. I lived in Tallahassee at the time so we did not see astronomical damage, but we did experience extremely high winds, rain, and a loss of power for over a week. I don’t know if you know this, but October in Florida is still very, very hot so being without power for a week meant no air conditioning, and no air conditioning at 40 weeks pregnant, huge and bloated and swollen and uncomfortable, was awful. (I know, first world problems but, I’m used to AC sue me). For 2 days we couldn’t even leave the house because the roads were inaccessible, power lines were down everywhere, no traffic lights, and nothing was open because, duh, no power. So, I do thank God I didn’t go into labor then because I wouldn’t have had a method to even get to the hospital. At around 41 weeks my doctor said that I wasn’t progressing and I was being put on the list for an induction, and they would call me between 4 a.m. and 9 a.m. with a time to come to the hospital to be induced. I got my call on Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 at exactly 4:01 a.m. to come to the hospital as soon as I could, as there was a room ready for me. My emotions were all over the place, I was excited, but also petrified. We dropped P off with a sitter (who thank GOD went to the gym at 3 a.m. every day so she was already awake), and made our way to the hospital. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t really drink anything, I just wanted to get the party started.

32% of all deliveries are Cesarean

25% are inductions

Once at the hospital I got my IV in and a doctor came with a weird hooked glove and broke my water, as I watched my husband eat a bagel. I was beyond annoyed with him because the minute he walked in with it the nurse asked me if I’d eaten, when I said no she told me I could really quick if I wanted to. So, sadly, I ate the hospital pancakes something that resembled scrambled eggs.

Let’s get the Show on the Road

After eating was when we decided to get going. I got my first round of pitocin. Pitocin, for those of you who don’t know, is a drug that brings on labor. I waited for it to kick in, and didn’t really feel much. So, they upped it, and upped it, and upped it. Until I could finally feel some pain going on. I have a mild pain tolerance so I withstood the contractions for a while, but soon asked for the IV pain meds. Those, sucked. I felt high as a kite and hated being on them. So that didn’t happen again. After a while the contractions started to really pick up, I was bouncing on the yoga ball crying in pain when they asked if I wanted the epidural. My answer, 100% absolutely heck yes. My language was a little more colorful, but you get the point.

The Epidural (the first one…)

Epidurals are incredibly scary. You have to sit, hunched over with your back looking like the letter C, while someone takes a needle the size of Manhattan and shoves it right in your spinal area. All of this while having excruciating contractions. Once my epidural was in, instant relief, although I could feel a weird pain in my hip I wrote it off. Within an hour I realized my epidural wasn’t quite working, I could completely feel the contractions in that spot in my hip, and I could easily move and feel my legs. I even asked the young (super young, kept calling me girl and hun) nurses to let me walk around, I could honestly do that, they didn’t believe me and told me I was threatening their licenses if I were to do that. They gave me a bolus, or another round of epidural meds directly into the epidural catheter. That calmed it for a couple minutes, but then it was right back to square one. Onto the second bolus. This is when it starts to get real dodgy. The minute that medicine flowed through the epidural catheter I knew something was wrong. My back completely seized up and I was screaming, literally screaming, in pain for her to stop. I couldn’t move, I was frozen with my arms clutching the side of the bed, my back seized up completely, and in absolute agony. This was worse than any contraction. My back felt like someone took hot knives and dragged them slowly through my muscles in my back, and then poured acid over the open wound. It. Was. Madness. This pain got so bad I begged my nurses to give me a C-Section, a statement I fully regret now; this shows just how absolutely ignorant I was to the entire C-Section process, and aftermath. The anesthesiologist was so shaken up she had to sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the room once I calmed down. She said it was to monitor me, but we could tell she was a little shaken up by it all. So now I’m clicking that epidural button every 20 minutes like clockwork, my husband even had an alarm on his phone to do it. Doing this took the edge off, I was still feeling every contraction, but I wasn’t in agony like before.  

Shift Change

This is the only highlight of my delivery story, my last set of nurses. During this process I went through 3 groups of nurses. The last ones understood my anxieties and helped me calm down when I was freaking out. They were literally amazing. Once they came on shift they got to deal with the very worst version of me I have ever “witnessed” I was mean, in pain, and exhausted. They brought in the new anesthesiologist who said my epidural didn’t look right and she was going to place it again. Again, it didn’t quite work. I had the “hot spot” in my hip again and was in the same amount of pain as before. Soon, after sitting with that stupid peanut ball between my legs (ladies, you know), I was at a 10 and ready to push. One doctor came in and said I was there, at a 10, and it was time to push the baby out. So, I did just that, I would “bear down” every time I had a contraction and pushed as hard as I could. Then my real doctor came in, he wasn’t on rotation, but heard I was in labor so he stopped by, he said I wasn’t dilated enough and to stop pushing. Weird. But ok. He left and a little later I was checked again by my nurse who said I was back at a 10 and to start pushing again. So, a new doctor came and sat between my legs and I pushed. That doctor then said to push, and my nurses would come and get him when I was crowning. So for 5 hours I pushed, with no success. I remember vividly staring at a dot on the ceiling trying to focus all my pain and energy on that one tiny spot just to make it through.

Enough was Enough

Finally, the doctor on call said enough was enough and I had gone longer than she lets patients go, and I needed to have a C-Section for the safety of my baby. Now remember, my water had been broken at the very beginning, right when I got there. That was now 36 hours ago. My baby needed to get out, and get out safely. So, they gave me the gown for the C-Section, told my husband they would come back and get him, and away I went, crying down the hallway feeling like the biggest failure of a mother already. When I got to the surgery room they gave me another round of epidural medicine and proceeded to pinch me to see if I felt anything. Of course I did, it hadn’t been working this whole time! So, they told me they had to knock me out. Cue panic. I didn’t even get to see my husband. He was left in the little waiting room, crying because he didn’t get to kiss me goodbye.

Waking Up

Waking up from being put under is so terrible. I apparently decided I couldn’t speak, so I proceeded to sign (I know bits of ASL), so much so that the nurse asked my husband if I could even talk, and they brought in another nurse who knew sign language to interpret what I was saying. Note, I haven’t mentioned babyE yet, because I didn’t get to see him. BabyE was born with some bacterial infection under his lungs, I never really got a clear answer of what it was, but they whisked him off to the NICU immediately and started antibiotics. I saw my son for the first time, drugged out of my mind from the anesthesia, I don’t even remember it. I didn’t even get to hold my son until almost 15 hours after giving birth to him. I still, to this day, months later, cry about my birth experience. I dreamed of a vaginal delivery, getting skin to skin right after, and breastfeeding within minutes. I got none of that. Breastfeeding was so difficult because of the NICU stay, I wanted to hold my baby, not pump and hold bottles. So I rarely pumped, and latched him when I could. This led to him having to supplement with formula. Looking back, I should’ve pumped, but I failed at that too. Just another fail I add to my list of being a parent. Now luckily, I pump every day, and nurse my son as often as I can; I still cannot feed him solely breastmilk, but how I look at it is, at least he’s getting some, even if it’s just some.  My son is now healthy, happy, and absolutely remarkable. I cherish every single day I get with him. I don’t let my birth story define me as a mother, but I wish more people were made aware of the heartache that comes with a birth that didn’t go as planned, and the feelings of failure that come with not achieving what you had hoped to achieve.

You are not alone

If you had a difficult delivery, or a birth that didn’t go to plan, you’re not alone in your feelings. If you want to be published as an anonymous contributor, email me at contact@writeandhighlight.com or send me a message on Facebook.

5 Things Never to Say to a Mom of Boys

I’m going to preface this with, this may not be everyone’s cup of tea but it is certainly some phrases that have driven me nuts while I’ve been raising my two boys over the years. Raising boys has been the hardest, grossest, weirdest, but fun time of my life. I never knew a small person could smell so bad after only being outside for an hour. I also never knew so many people would have an opinion on the aesthetic appeal of my newborn’s penis. *shrug*

Please stop commenting on the look of my son’s penis…

“You know he’ll hate you when he’s older because you didn’t circumcise him”

Ok, I’m going to start with this one because it’s a hot topic right now. With the new documentary on Netflix, and people beginning the anti-circ movements, this seems like a great starting point. I chose not to circumcise my son *gasp* I know. My reasons were private between my husband and I, and we came the agreement that the choice was not ours to make. If my son wants it later in life, I’ll happily take him to have it done, but I couldn’t do it. I’m not putting anyone down who has done it, but for me, I just couldn’t and honestly it has nothing to do with the documentaries, or other people’s opinions, I simply didn’t want to have my baby cut on. Which leads me to my first thing to stop telling moms of boys, “You know he’ll hate you when he’s older because you didn’t circumcise him.”

Honestly, I’m sure my kids are going to hate me for a lot of reasons, and I doubt the look of his penis will be the top of those reasons. Making him do his homework? Probably. Telling him he can’t have a new iPhone? Definitely. And I’ll be real with you, if he hates me because I didn’t cut his penis, I will happily offer to pay for the procedure for him to do it. But telling me my kid is going to hate me later in life because I didn’t do it isn’t conducive to anything. It’s done, I didn’t do it, making me feel like crap because I didn’t do it isn’t going to change anything. You may not agree with my choice and that is A-OK, what is not A-OK is you having a comment on my son’s body and my choice not to alter it. Mind your penis (or lack thereof).

Boys will be boys is not an excuse for boys will be little jerkoffs.

“Boys will be boys”

Y’all I could literally SCREAM every time someone says this to me. This is the ultimate slap in the face when raising boys. You are telling me that there is no way to stop the behavior, and that because he was born a male, he is allowed to behave this way. First of all, no. Boys will be boys is not an excuse for boys will be little jerkoffs. Boys will behave the way in which they are raised to behave. If they are raised that, because they are a boy, they can do whatever, whenever they want, that is exactly how they will behave (*gasp* it’s the same for girls). Kids mimic what they see, so if you allow their behavior, they’ll continue to do it. I’ve vented to some people on the terrible behavior of P, and all I get is “boys will be boys,” do tell me how that helps the situation? You essentially just told me to let it go, let him continue this terrible behavior, because, innately, he’s a boy and he’ll continue to do this. If you don’t have anything constructive to say when a woman tells you about her son’s behavior, don’t. say. anything. It isn’t hard, just zip the lip and smile and nod, it’s better than being condescending.

Oh, honey, they all do that.

“That’s all children…”

Here’s another one that just irks my nerves, “all kids do that.” OK, awesome! So like, let’s stop letting them do that? I don’t care if every kid out there kicked a kitten, I would still be appalled when my child does it. Now if all kids wanted to wear polka-dotted socks, that’s harmless, wear them socks all day kiddo. But when it comes to bad behavior, just because it happens with some kids, doesn’t mean you have to allow it in your house. This comes especially into play when I talk about certain behaviors (lying, talking back, tantrums, etc.). I get all kids are going to have bad days, I’m not naive or dumb, but excessive bad behavior shouldn’t be written off simply because all kids have the tendency to do these things. Just because little Ben down the street screams in his parent’s faces and slams doors, doesn’t mean I’m going to allow it my house because, “Hey, they all do it!” I want to raise my kids not to follow the masses, not to be like everyone else, so why would I write off their behavior as OK just because other kids do it? I don’t know how other parent’s handle it, but for my sanity, I can’t just terrible behavior. We have to draw the line in the sand somewhere.

Kicking kittens is never OK.

“You know he’s like this because…”

Unless you’re a therapist, stop telling me why my kid is the way he is. Yeah he’s gone through some crap at a young age, but when do we stop letting that dictate the rest of his life? Or with BabyE, when people tell me I’m spoiling him from holding him so much. What?! He’s a BABY. Babies can’t tell you their needs, they just expect them to be met, so yes, I will hold and cuddle this tiny human I created until my arms are tired. Because one day I won’t be able to pick him up so easily. One day he won’t like my hugs. One day he won’t want my kisses. So for now, I’m living in the moment with my kids. Stop telling women how they are raising their kids is wrong. Unless she’s feeding them bleach for dinner, then of course, let ‘er know.
None of know what the heck we’re doing in this parenting thing, so unless you have some stellar Super-Nanny advice on how to handle these little creatures, keep your diagnoses, and opinions to yourself.

Stop telling women how they are raising their kids is wrong.

“Oh look, he’s got a girlfriend”

Ok, ew. He’s a child. This is another one that can be filed under stop sexualizing kids. This also makes boys think that they can’t be friends with girls because they get the “oooooh you love her.” The girlfriend thing really only bugs me when it comes to the baby, because, just no. With the older hooligan, he could very well start to get little girlfriends, but right now I want him to know he can be friends with a girl without it having some different connotation. Let kids be kids. When he wants a real girlfriend, we’ll cross that bridge when it comes, but for now I want him to be able to catch lizards and worms with the girl next door because he likes playing with her without someone commenting that they are on a “little date.”

Let kids be kids.

In summary, stop telling us everything we’re doing wrong. Parenting is hard enough without your judgement, Judy.