My Birth Plan Was Ruined. Twice.November 8, 2022 |
CONTENT WARNING: This post discusses pregnancy loss. Continue reading at your own discretion.
I will never forget it. It's like it happened yesterday.
I was 20 weeks pregnant in the doctor's office with cold jelly all over my slightly protruding abdomen. Voices faded in and out as I heard, for the first time, that things didn't look good with the placement of my baby's placenta.
Sheer panic pulsated through my body as I flashed back to just six months earlier when I learned that my child Cameron had a condition that was incompatible with life. And there was no way this was happening… again. This baby was my second chance. This pregnancy had to go right. It had to. I simply could not handle the heartbreak of losing another baby.
Throughout both my loss and subsequent pregnancy, I had stellar care. Every month, I went to ultrasound appointments to make sure my baby boy was healthy and growing. My rainbow baby! My doctor encouraged me to make a birth plan and attend birthing classes even all the signs were pointing toward the need for a C-section.
Then on April 1st, at my 39.5 week appointment and final ultrasound, my doctor gave me good news. Incredibly, amazingly the placenta had shifted away from the cervix and I had the green light for an induction in 72 hours. I was so excited (and nervous!) when April 4th rolled around. I arrived at the hospital bright, early, and ready to finally become a mother to my first child.
After receiving labor-inducing medication, the process started slowly. After about an hour, contractions begun in earnest, everything looked good, and we were on the way. Then terror struck. Again. I suddenly began to bleed profusely. I remember my mother running down the hall for the medical staff. They examined me, stating that the placenta had ruptured and that I needed to be prepared for an immediate C-section.
I went from Plan A to Plan B and back to Plan A within the span of 3 days. Everything happened at lightning speed – the rush back to the operating room, an epidural, even the delivery. Then, at 11:11am, my oldest son was delivered.
And the recovery was difficult. I spent days not being able to hold my child properly or stand without assistance, and was constantly interrupted to have my wounds dressed. All while caring for a newborn.
Though I was stubborn to admit it, I needed help. Everything had gone awry and I just needed support. Looking back now, I feel absolutely blessed that I received such amazing, quick-thinking care and that my child was born healthy without major complications.
The ugly, jagged scar I bear (after two additional C-sections) is a reminder of my three beautiful, healthy babies. Babies that are now growing into young adults and accomplishing incredible things.
And on a good day – a day I’m being gentle with myself – it is a reminder of that very first April Fool’s Day joke my eldest played on me.