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A Tale of Two Births

     
   This story is written in the form of a letter which I sent to the doctor who 
   performed my C-section:
     
   Dear Dr. Done-me-wrong:
     
   You probably don't remember me.  To you I was just another mother whose baby 
   you delivered by c-section back in September of 1990.  My daughter is now 
   five and a half years old, and I'm still carrying the anger over my cesarean 
   section.  Let me refresh your memory.
     
   My water broke at 3:00 in the morning; my contractions began immediately 
   thereafter, regular and less than five minutes apart, so we headed to the 
   hospital.  When I arrived at around 4:15 a.m., I was only dilated to about 2 
   centimeters.  My contractions continued to be strong and regular and I was 
   thrilled, as I was determined to have as natural a birth as possible (no 
   drugs, minimal intervention).  I'd taken all the classes and kept myself in 
   excellent health in preparation for a natural delivery and a healthy baby.
     
   I did, however, ask for an IV.  I know from previous hospital experience 
   that I have a tendency to become very weak when I don't eat, and that I 
   dehydrate quickly.  Since hospitals still insist on STARVING laboring women, 
   I thought the IV was a good idea.  Much to my surprise, the nurse said "Why 
   don't we cross that bridge when we come to it, honey," and refused to start 
   an IV.  At around 5:30 a.m., I began to feel the urge to push.  The Resident 
   on duty refused to examine me, since you were on your way and no one thought 
   I could possibly have progressed much in such a short time.  When I began 
   "panting" to fight the urge to push, the nurse said "Now, honey, if you 
   start breathing like that now, you'll be exhausted by the time you're at 5 
   centimeters."  Had they examined me they would probably have found that I 
   was already past 7 centimeters, because when you arrived at around 6:00 
   a.m., I was almost fully dilated.  So, you told me to start pushing.  I was 
   new at this, and I took a couple pushes to get the hang of it (I was flat on 
   my back...no wonder I was having a hard time!)  After only a few pushes, you 
   said the baby's heart tones were dropping, as evidenced by the external 
   monitor.  You then applied an internal monitor and after a few more pushes, 
   decided an "emergency" c-section was "necessary."
     
   You kicked my terrified husband out of the room, wheeled me at break-neck 
   speed down the hall while one nurse frantically tried to open a vein and the 
   other ripped off my hospital gown.  Then, as I lay naked and exposed, cold 
   and terrified, strapped to the table, not allowed to push, you opted for 
   GENERAL ANESTHESIA.  I'm not sure why: no time for an epidural because the 
   IV hadn't been started when I asked for it?  My mind was screaming "NO" (I 
   think I may have even screamed it out loud) and the last thing I heard 
   before the anesthetic was administered was you and the anesthesiologist 
   arguing.  You said "we've got to get that baby out now" and he said 
   something like "O.k., I'll put her under now, but she'll bleed to death on 
   the table."  I was so terrified I actually welcomed the peace the anesthesia 
   would bring; anything to end this nightmare!
     
   After my baby was "born", my husband was tossed a surgical gown and told he 
   could see her.  I was still wide open on the table, a sight he'll never 
   forget.
     
   My little 6 lb. 13 oz. baby girl was on the warming table when I came to.  I 
   was so groggy I wasn't even sure where I was.  They asked me if I wanted to 
   nurse her, but I couldn't figure out how, since I wasn't even allowed to sit 
   up.  I was so medicated for the next two days, I didn't even know who came to 
   visit me.  I was so sleepy from the morphine the nurses continually pumped 
   into my IV that I was afraid to hold my baby unassisted. On the third day, 
   when I demanded the nurses remove the morphine from my IV, I became aware 
   enough to look at my incision.  That's when I discovered I had been cut 
   vertically, from my navel to my pubic hair.  How much longer would it have 
   taken you to give me a bikini cut??? I can't tell you how I felt at that 
   point.  Not only did I completely miss the birth of my first child, but I was 
   scarred, both physically and emotionally from the entire experience.
     
   Oh, yes, I still hear "the important thing is that you had a healthy baby" or 
   "Thank God they were able to get the baby out it time" from people who don't 
   know any better.  And my response to them is "Yes, I DO thank GOD I had a 
   healthy baby", because the way hospitals mismanage labor and delivery it's a 
   miracle either of us survived.  Because I know that the minute you opted for 
   general anesthesia and a surgical delivery you were endangering my life and  
   my baby's.  And I now know that hospitals and most doctors can't "manage" a 
   healthy delivery.  Once I was under general anesthesia, I was "manageable", 
   no longer in charge.  All my education and preparation were of no use to me 
   then.
     
   I've since had a second child, a little boy.  You might find it interesting 
   that my second birth experience was very similar to the first.  My water 
   broke a little before noon on Christmas day, 1993.  My contractions began 
   immediately and were regular, so I went to the hospital.  By the time I 
   arrived at the hospital, I felt the urge to push.  I was examined and was 
   about 5 1/2 centimeters.  I was offered an epidural (at least 3 times) and 
   refused it, knowing it would increase my chances of another c-section (of 
   course, none of my childbirth preparation classes told me that - they were 
   classes in compliance, not preparation).  I asked for, and was given, an IV. 
    I was examined again and was around 7 1/2 centimeters and was taken to the 
   LDR, where my doctor arrived shortly thereafter.  By then I was at 10 and 
   instructed to push.  After about 10 minutes of pushing, the delivery team 
   noticed the baby's heart tones were dropping.
     
   Just like the first time, right?  WRONG. Would you like to know what my 
   birthing team did?  They had me roll onto my left side between contractions; 
   they gave me oxygen, made sure I was getting plenty of fluids through my IV. 
   Instead of just relying on the fetal monitor, they actually took blood from 
   the baby's scalp to see if he was getting enough oxygen.  And all this 
   despite the fact that I was a high-risk pregnancy; due to gestational 
   diabetes, they knew I was having at least an 8 pound baby AND I was a 
   VBAC!!!!
     
   So I got to push.  I pushed for an hour and a half.  At  about 2:56 p.m., 
   less than 3 hours after my labor began, I pushed out an 8 lb. 14 oz. baby 
   boy, who was healthy, BIG, bright pink and beautiful.  I got to hold him 
   right away, and I'll never forget the first time he looked into my eyes, 
   just moments after he came into the world.  I was exhausted.  I broke all 
   the blood vessels in my eyes because doctors and nurses still insist on 
   mothers holding their breath when they push. ( I now know this is 
   unnecessary and counterproductive.)  Yet, it was the most wonderful thing 
   I've ever experienced.
     
   The only medication I needed afterward was Tylenol, and my baby and I went 
   home the next day.
     
   Apparently you and your hospital have a much different definition of "fetal 
   distress" than my present doctors'.  Apparently, a vaginal delivery and the 
   lengthy pushing that might have been involved didn't fit into your schedule 
   that morning.  For years I dealt with the emotional scars by telling myself 
   that my baby was really in trouble, and that the surgical delivery was 
   really necessary.  I now know that's not true, and that's when I became 
   really angry.  Once I looked over my records for both deliveries, I learned 
   the truth.  I was another statistic; another unnecessary C-section.
     
   But the mismanagement of my pregnancy and delivery didn't end there.  To 
   make matters worse, your practice added insult to injury by mismanaging a 
   routine case of mastitis for nearly a month, until I ultimately ended up 
   with an abscess and excruciating in-office surgery (six weeks post-partum, 
   performed by one of your partners) to drain it.  And although I continued to 
   nurse my daughter through this ordeal, the incision (which had to be left 
   open) wept tears of milk each time I nursed and required daily cleanings 
   with a syringe of saline and peroxide.  Imagine flushing a wound 1/2 inch 
   deep in your own breast with saline and peroxide!
     
   And yes, I ended up with yet another scar.
     
   I just can't imagine a worse experience.  I was a healthy, young women, 
   giving birth to a full-term, healthy baby.  I didn't need a c-section.  I 
   have (or HAD) normal breast tissue, and should never had developed an 
   abscess.  None of this should have happened.
     
   So I'm angry.  I'm angry that you, your practice and your hospital, in your 
   haste, robbed me of the birth experience I had dreamed of and prepared for; 
   scarred me physically and emotionally, and caused me to harbor this anger for 
   the last five years.  Every time I look at my c-section scar in the mirror 
   (and believe me, I can't miss it) I'm furious.  Every time I see the large 
   scar on my breast from the abscess, I'm furious.  Every time my underwear 
   irritates my scars, I'm furious.  Every time I think of how you endangered my 
   life, I'm furious.
     
   And I'm furious that I let myself feel like a failure, even though I'm not 
   the one who failed.  Most of all, I'm furious with myself for not writing 
   this letter to you sooner.
     
   Very truly yours,
     
     Sara