On Thursday, April 1st, 2010, I went into labor. It was not at all a hard labor. The only reason I even knew it was labor was because the contractions were so timeable. As they grew closer and closer together, my husband, my mama, and I decided to call the hospital. They said I should come get checked out. I was only two centimeters dilated. It was also then that we were told that my midwife was out of town for the weekend. If I gave birth that weekend, I would have Dr. K. I wanted to go home. After they had me walk for over an hour, then told me that walking really doesn't do anything to help labor along anyway, and hooked me up to various machines, I was finally allowed to leave. That night, my husband suggested that we just have a home birth. But I thought that (at 41 1/2 weeks pregnant) it was too late to get a midwife and get everything set up for one. I told my baby and my body to wait a few more days. I quietly cried myself to sleep.
Though I was still having contractions, I managed to make it through all of Friday and Saturday (including an Easter dinner at my aunt's house). Sunday morning I woke up. I ate breakfast. I hung out with my husband (we didn't go to church because I was so exhausted from being in labor for over 72 hours). By late afternoon, my back began to ache. The contractions grew stronger. I tried to take a nap but I was too uncomfortable. I tried to eat but I couldn't handle much. The contractions grew closer. I was upset about having Dr. K. I grew weary. At around 8:00pm, we called the hospital and they told us to come in.
I remember yelling in pain from each of the first stitches. I remember agreeing to let them give me stadol to ease the pain. Then.... handing off my daughter to my husband because I was so drugged I was afraid I would drop her.... moaning from each of the 50 or 60 or more stitches.... seeing double.... blacking out....waking up to my mama asking me if I wanted to hold my baby....being so out of it that I didn't want her to see me like that.... Dr. K making jokes that were not funny....my daddy coming to see his baby girl's baby girl.... Nurse J latching my baby on to nurse and saying it was a good thing that she was a natural because I was passed out....seeing normal with one eye closed.... blacking out again.... getting out of the bed and going to the bathroom.... peri bottle, tucks pads, and fake underwear.... another bed... my brand new baby daughter in my arms .... sleep. At some point during the night a nurse came in and told my mama that I needed to put my baby in the bassinet. I said "No." and went back to sleep. I nursed her a couple of times through the night, but I don't really remember how or when.
I went home after two and a half days in that prison. I was so glad to be home that I nearly cried as my husband laid down next to my daughter and myself in our bed. We were finally where we should have been all along. Seven weeks later, when my sister had her daughter with the Midwife S (a beautiful and peaceful experience), my mama spoke to Nurse J. She cleared up a lot of questions we had about my birth for us. "It was the most barbaric delivery I have ever seen in this hospital." she said. She then continued to say that she was so upset by the delivery that she wrote letter to both Dr. F and her group of midwives and to the hospital. It was a great relief to learn the truth about things. And to know that we weren't just overreacting.
Finally,after five months, I began to understand. God tried to protect me. I didn't listen. I should have NEVER gone there in the first place! I should have trusted that the bad feeling I had was from God. I should have listened to my husband's leading when he finally said we should just stay home. But I let my worldly concerns about home birth overrule what I knew deep down was right for me, my family, and my birth. I put my trust in the doctors and midwives more than in God Himself. For that I could only blame myself. I prayed long and hard and I ask God to forgive me for not listening to His guidance and to help me to listen in the future. I know I am forgiven, as if it never even happened. The flashbacks have faded. Though I still remember it as a nightmare, it is only a reminder of the repercussions of not following my heart and God's calling. A reminder to NEVER let it happen again. I pray with all my heart that I never have to return to that place. Dr. K was wrong for treating me the way that he did, but I went into the hospital (his house). In his house, I had to follow his rules. Next time it will be my house, my rules. Next time (Lord willing) will be a home birth!
Today, my daughter is six months old. We are both healthy and happy. I have healed physically, though not until recently. I love being a mama. I love my little family. I am so grateful for everything that God has given me. I still mourn the loss of my birth from time to time. I still have a hard time thinking or talking about it for very long. People that haven't had a traumatic birth can never really understand the way that it feels. Some people say that I have a healthy daughter, I should be happy. I am happy. I love the the conclusion. I just wish I could change a few things about the story. Some people say that I should sue Dr. K for malpractice. But that wouldn't change my birth story. And honestly, I have forgiven him. It is a fine line to walk. Forgetting enough about the trauma to not let it interfere with my life, but remembering enough to never let something like that happen again. I guess while I'm learning to do so, I'll just keep on loving God, my husband, my daughter, my family, and my new life as a mama. After all, it is a wonderful life to be living!