In honor of my Baby Girl’s birthday this month, I am going to share her birth story. Sorry if it freaks out any mamas-to-be out there.
I was scheduled for my third c-section when she was about 38 weeks gestational age. This was because my other two children came at 39 weeks and 38 weeks, so we were trying to avoid going into labor before my surgery was scheduled.
This being my third successful pregnancy (there were some miscarriages along the way), I was too busy with my two boys to do the traditional pre-birth things like pregnancy photos, so I asked my husband if we could quickly take a few belly shots outside of the hospital before we checked in.
Well, I guess he was feeling too stressed and rushed to do that, so I ended up with no photos outside and feeling pissed off in the waiting area.
We finally get called in to the OR and a resident scans my back for an appropriate location to put the needle in for the spinal block anesthetic. A pinch and it’s done.
I’ve always found it a bit funny that during the surgery they make you have your arms spread out like a crucifixion. It’s also freezing in the OR, so I’m always shaking like a leaf (I guess just from the waist up) with my arms spread out.
So after a bit of slicing and dicing, they do the fun part where it feels like they’re pushing your guts out (I guess they kind of are). There’s no pain, but there is a ton of pressure as they push the top of your uterus down while they are pulling the baby out from the bottom.
She had the tiniest cry. The cute little newborn mewing that is just a hair above a whisper. My oldest was wailing like a bat out of hell right from the beginning, so this tiny little girly cry was so refreshing.
The doctor shows me the baby for a second and then she is whisked off for measuring, assessing, and a little wipedown. Hubby rushes to take her pictures, while I remain splayed on the operating table for repair.
It’s taking longer than usual, but I’ve got nowhere to be so I just chill in my Jesus pose while the doctor does his thing.
Then my OB doc walks over to my head past the curtain that is shielding my own insides from my view and explains that he sliced through my bladder accidentally.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, “I can even blame it on the resident because I did it myself. And on you of all people!”
I used to work in a swanky maternal fetal medicine clinic where we serviced a ton of his patients. Plus he delivered my first two monsters. Let’s just say we had a pretty tight relationship.
I couldn’t fault him though. The inflammation that I was always fighting caused excessive scar tissue to build up. My bladder was adhered to my uterus and abdominal wall and during the pregnancy, it had slowly been stretched higher and higher, until it was at the level of my umbilicus. There was no way he could have predicted that my bladder was that high up.
What followed was a multi level repair in both my bladder wall and abdominal wall. My doctor is an excellent surgeon. By the time he was done, everything was sealed up tight, it was almost like having a tummy tuck.
But the surgery wasn’t complete until my husband asked the doctor, “You took her tubes out, right?”
Yes, my tubes were removed. I was 37, had three kids, and not enough money or time for any more than that. But kudos to hubby for saying the most insensitive thing possible at that moment. Don’t worry, we’re good!
My OB doctor actually said it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning on more babies, because after that abdominal surgery, nothing else was going to come out of there. Recovery was a really difficult compared to my first two deliveries.
But back to my baby girl… She was gorgeous even all puffy, red, and eyes covered in ointment. She weighed 7 pounds and 9 ounces and was wide awake from the moment she was born. She is worth every bit of drama and all of the tears I shed.
Happy birthday Baby Girl!