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CW: birth trauma, postpartum depression, NICU hospitalization
I never imagined I’d need to have a C-section. I’m ashamed to admit that I definitely looked down upon the idea, thinking it didn’t really count as giving birth or meant a woman wasn’t strong enough to give birth the “normal” way. I had prepared myself with relaxing hypnobirthing techniques and practices and was so sure I’d have the calm, natural birth that my heart was set on. What happened instead was so very different from my dreams, but to my great surprise, has radically changed my life for the better.  I labored for almost two whole days with Tony. I stayed calm and relaxed as they told me I could no longer roam the hallways and began the pitocin drip I had hoped to avoid. I kept breathing as discomfort kept me from sleep and I threw up the tiny bit of jello they allowed me to eat. Eventually, I accepted the epidural in hopes I might be able to rest and get things moving. I was disappointed but accepted that plans change. None of it was really that bad, but maybe that was the “problem”. My contractions weren’t strong enough to really move things forward and as it had been so long since my water broke, the doctor began to get worried. They went to place an additional heart rate sensor on the baby’s head and that must have upset his perfect little bubble. Anthony’s heart rate dropped and never quite picked itself up. They rushed an oxygen mask on me, turned me on my side and he recovered a bit. About 20-30 minutes later, the nurses said I was dilated enough to push and just as we counted down, his heart rate dropped dramatically and I knew. I heard the “Code P” over the hospital speaker system as they prepped the bed to roll into surgery. I knew it was too late and I knew Troy wouldn’t be coming with me. I said goodbye. Troy gave me a nod. It was a goodbye, it was a “you got this”, it was an “I’m with you”. It was a prayer. The surgery itself was worse than I expected. I thought I was numb. I thought I wouldn’t feel anything but I felt...everything. Most of the details are in my poem. It was physical pain, it was emotional pain, and it was so much fear. I prayed during that time and after, when we didn’t know how Anthony would live, like I’d never prayed before.  Anthony’s birth, NICU stay, and health challenges have been the greatest challenges I’ve ever faced in my life. But, they’ve absolutely transformed my life. Recovering from my birth PTSD and PPD forced me to find new strength, to discover more about myself, and to heal. To heal, not just from the birth trauma, but from everything. I’ve healed from previous depression, from body insecurity, from emotional guilt. The wellness journey I began has transformed into a much more confident, centered, and positive person. It’s taken time and moved in little steps but I’m so grateful for who I am right now, in this time. Today, I wear my little smiley face scar as a badge of honor. I am grateful for the struggle because it’s made the joy so much sweeter. For all my C-section, PPD, and Birth Trauma Mamas, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you had to experience pain, fear, and sadness related to your birth experience. You are strong, worthy, and you birthed beautifully. May you find healing if you need it and please reach out if you need support in doing so. I’m here for you if I can be a listening ear or a loving spirit along your journey. Sending love and light to all. Belly BornMama,
I’m sorry birth didn’t go the way you wanted I’m sorry you labored for two whole days And when they finally told you You could try to push The line went flat Mama, I’m sorry they had to cut you open And it hurt like hell when they Rearranged your insides With no one there to Hold your hand I’m sorry When they pulled him out He was blue And you didn’t get to see him Mama, I’m sorry you had to hear that phrase “We’re doing everything we can” And you whispered “Baby, baby, baby” As the lights faded to black I’m sorry you only had a minute A brief stroke of tiny fingers Through a glass box Before he was gone And the little seat sat empty in the car Mama, I’m sorry you didn’t get to be the first The first to see him The first to hold him The first to feed him I’m sorry when you look into his sweet baby eyes Eyes that see you As comfort As joy As all that is good and sacred Eyes that know You are the very definition of love Part of you Worries You’ll always look into those eyes And feel like you failed him Mama, I’m sorry you feel it was all your fault It wasn’t I’m sorry you carried that guilt So heavy it bent your back And made you look down But, I’m not sorry it happened I’m not sorry you cried Not sorry it broke your heart so hard You’d have to learn how to place it all back together I’m not sorry you were forced To find new strength To push your head up To learn how to breathe Under water I’m not sorry you birthed a fighter Who has taught you more about Love and presence Than you ever thought possible And yes, I said “birthed” Because you birthed him beautifully In pain, In sacrifice, In hope Belly born & birthed beautifully
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 I watch him pick up the snails so gently, understanding their precious lives, and taking good care to keep them alive. I am thinking about Elijah and how he played his violin for the rescue kittens. How he was vegetarian and wanted to make the world a better place. Today we are mourning the loss of Daunte and Adam. Tomorrow we will mourn others. I am thinking of their young lives and I am thinking of Tamir and Trayvon. I am always thinking of Trayvon and how our boys’ youth will not save them. I am thinking of sweet girls in classrooms who are just kids but are already seen as young women and are treated as such. I am thinking of the Black girls who are kicked out of class because their joy is “too loud” or their bad day was seen as a “bad attitude.” I am thinking about that study where even the preschool teachers looked first to the Black children for misbehavior and I am wondering. I am wondering how any of us can possibly hope to keep our Black and Brown babies safe when our society continues to value whiteness as “good, safe, and normal” and sees color as “dangerous, rough, and bad”. I am wondering, endlessly, if I will give Tony the right instructions, tell him the right things to make sure he stays alive but in the end, it feels somewhat hopeless. How many Black men and women “cooperated”, did the right thing and still lost their lives? Adams' hands were up. His hands were up and they were empty. What else could he have done? We shouldn’t have to prepare our children for that. We shouldn’t have to load our children with tips and tricks in order to survive a police encounter. Enough of that. Let the children grow. Let them be free to play with bugs and sniff the flowers. Let us be free. Let mothers joyfully soak up the sun and relax without worry or fear of the future. To echo what so many are saying today, this freedom won’t come about solely with diversity training and multicultural celebrations. Those are valuable, important components of creating a more equitable future but we need more and we need it now. We need abolition, we need liberation, and we need a radical recreation of what policing looks like in this country. May it be so. Today vs. tomorrowToday we look for
snails in the backyard Tomorrow we will look for ways to make him not seem hard Today I teach him how to find treasures in the sands Tomorrow I will teach him where to slowly place his hands Today I lead him through flowers in the sunlight Tomorrow I will let him go and pray that he comes home at night |
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April 2023
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