Birth Unveiled
Embracing the Unpredictability of Childbirth: A Journey of Flexibility and Strength
Living in New York City, I must warn women about what the ride home from the hospital after a c-section feels like. Brace yourself for your organs doing a little dance with every pothole and bump – and trust me, there are plenty. It's downright excruciating. And why didn't anyone clue me in about the wonders of a belly binder? I was not ready for any of the curveballs my labor and delivery threw at me.
Despite my well-thought-out birthing plan, the support of a doula, midwives, chiropractor, prenatal yoga teachers, therapist, and the whole shebang, I got a lesson the hard way. Capricorns, you know how we do – life tends to school us in ways we least expect. Turns out, preparing for one dream birth scenario doesn't mean you're prepared for the actual deal.
There's a lot of content and conversations these days about returning to our roots, embracing indigenous birthing methods, and shunning hospitals. According to Instagram reels, hospitals are a big sham, and birth should be all rainbows and butterflies if you're "doing it right." Sure, I get the appeal of the natural, euphoric experience, but let's not forget the stark truth – women have been birthing for ages, and not everyone had the luxury of modern medical wonders. The reality is, alongside giving birth, women have faced mortality throughout history. I am incredibly thankful for technology, medical advancements, and access to hospitals. And let's spare a thought for the women in Gaza going through c-sections without anesthesia – it's been on my mind endlessly.
My mom shares stories about Mah-bebe, our family's midwife in Afghanistan, who had a unique way of doing things. Picture this: women squatting over a bucket of dirt during labor, ensuring the baby lands softly. Resourceful, right? It's a glimpse into a simpler time. She also shares stories of her pregnancy with me as a refugee, leaning on midwives in different countries when she encountered life-threatening complications. Fast forward to my own pregnancy in the bustling city, and I felt blessed to be delivering at one of Manhattan's top hospitals – low-intervention and pro-midwifery. I thought I hit the jackpot, blending the best of both worlds.
Then came December 20th, when I went into early labor and simultaneously, denial. As contractions ramped up, I found myself doing a bizarre mix of washing dishes and rearranging furniture. A week before my due date, I was not mentally ready for the little one to join us – too much left on the to-do list. It marked the beginning of a battle between my illusion of control and the universe's reminder that, well, I'm not really the one steering this ship.
Fast forward to a 10-hour labor at home, with my husband and doula thinking I might pop the baby out in the bathroom I stubbornly refused to leave. The car ride to the hospital was an out-of-body experience, navigating morning traffic from Bed-Stuy to the Upper West Side. By the time we reached, I was 3.5 cm dilated and 90% effaced. Surprisingly good news, especially since I had been stressing about not consuming enough dates or red raspberry leaf tea. They not only admitted me but threw the option of an epidural at me, debunking the myth that it slows down labor. Friends' voices echoed in my head – "don't be a hero" – and I caved, welcoming the relief.
By 4 pm, I was nearly 7 cm dilated, and everyone was placing bets on when the baby would make her grand entrance. Little did I know, you have to wait a good 3-4 hours before checking dilation to avoid infection. So, we patiently waited until around 7:30ish, only to find out I was still stuck at 7 cm. Impatience and nerves crept into the room. Why the hold-up? No progress for hours. Now, we had to wait until 11 pm to see if things would move forward.
Meanwhile, the epidural decided to throw a curveball, affecting me in a way only 5% of people experience. The fluids climbed up my back, and I felt like my neck was about to stage a rebellion. Pains shot up my neck, through my shoulders, and down to my elbows – a unique neck pain that rivaled my contractions. The anesthesiologist casually informed me to ween off the epidural for the next two hours – as if I wasn't knee-deep in labor. It took ages for them to take me seriously, brushing it off as a mere "pulled muscle."
Throughout the day, various positions like laying on my left side would make the baby's heartbeat drop. I'd ask my midwife if everything was okay, and the response was, "you'd know if it wasn't because a bunch of people would come rushing into your room." But around 10 pm, the cavalry – doctors included – came rushing into my room. Panic set in. My daughter’s heartbeat was dipping every twenty minutes, lasting up to 60 seconds. It was decision time, and by that, they meant one thing: a cesarean.
I wasn't prepared for that bombshell, especially after persevering through over 25 hours of labor. I had spent years mentally preparing for motherhood and the entire pregnancy gearing up for natural labor. I desperately wanted to experience what countless women had – the magical, natural birth. I had deliberately ignored any mention of c-sections in every pregnancy app and antenatal class I had taken, fearing that acknowledging them might make them happen. Turns out, that's the toxic side of manifesting, a lesson learned the hard way.
Failure and shame hit me like a tidal wave. Was my body not strong enough? Was I not woman enough? Were my hips too narrow? What about the baby? Another hour crawled by, and the same crew returned, pushing me to make a decision before it turned into an emergency. So, I did. We prepped for the operating room, but not before I unleashed a flood of tears in front of a room full of strangers. I was scared – scared of having layers of me cut open in major surgery, scared of being pumped with epidural again regardless of what it would do to my neck, scared of the inevitably harder recovery journey ahead, and scared of scars.
As they hoisted my body onto the operating table, hormones were running wild, and my neck felt as if it were broken. My teeth were chattering uncontrollably and I felt like I was on the verge of convulsions. They reassured me that things would get better postpartum, but for the next hour or so, I had to endure it. What they don't tell you about c-sections is that while you won't feel the pain, you'll feel the pressure. I could feel them cutting me open, pushing and pulling her out, stitching me back closed layer by layer. I had to disassociate to survive.
When they finally placed my daughter cheek to cheek with me, all I could grasp was that she was okay, and hopefully, I would be too. Unfortunately, I couldn't feel much more than that due to the overwhelming pain. Since her birth, all the gratitude in the world hasn't fully erased the grief. Dreams of my birthing ball, music playlist, uninterrupted golden hour, and my husband cutting the umbilical cord – all shattered. But we got to bring our healthy baby home, and that's a blessing that outshines everything else.
This labor and delivery journey threw unexpected challenges and emotions my way. If I thought giving birth "naturally" would prove my strength, being cut open and having her pulled out of me did that tenfold. After the surgery, I discovered that my baby was in the sunny side up position, likely explaining my dilation stall. I couldn't help but think, so it wasn't my fault? I share this experience not as a pity party but as a testimony for women to ditch rigid birth plans and embrace flexibility. Childbirth is an unpredictable ride, and you never know what curveballs it'll throw at you. Focus on the ultimate priority: having a healthy baby. I hope my story helps others navigate the diverse realities of childbirth and prompts people to be more conscious of how they make women feel who don't give birth "naturally".
Reading your birth story revealed my own fantasies/falsehoods around birth. Truth is, it’s all about surrendering, including surrendering the dream of how I’d like to deliver a child. Thank you so much for sharing your story 💗 May you be supported and healthy.
Powerful!! I could feel everything you put down here. God bless you and your little one 🙏🏽♥️🌹✨💫🤲🏽