my cesarean story

Before Cesarean Awareness Month comes to an end, I’m sharing the story of my first birth - an unplanned cesarean - to raise awareness about misplaced trust in our medical system and the cascade of interventions.

Five years ago, I had a normal healthy pregnancy. I continued to work out regularly, attend college, and work as a server until birth. I saw an OBGYN for my pregnancy because that’s what my insurance told me to do. That’s what my family told me to do. I didn’t have any friends who were mothers. I didn’t know anything about birth. I had no one to ask questions or turn to for advice other than my provider who spent five minutes with me at each appointment. She never talked to me about diet or maintaining a healthy pregnancy. I would show up, wait for awhile because they were always running behind, pee in a cup, get my vitals taken and baby’s heart rate, and leave. It also never occurred to me to take a childbirth education class or even pick up a book. I was young.

As I got closer to the end of my pregnancy, GBS was detected in my urine. GBS is a normal bacteria that grows in one-third of women’s vaginas and is harmless to mom. There is a small chance (1-2%) that GBS will give baby an infection after he passes through the birth canal. I was retested with a swab and confirmed GBS+ to which they declared they would treat with IV antibiotics during my labor - the first intervention of what would be many.

The last few weeks of my pregnancy, my OBGYN was measuring my fundal height (the distance between your pubic bone and the top of your uterus) when she noticed my belly was slightly smaller than average. She ordered an ultrasound to confirm that my baby was “too small” and diagnosed him with Intrauterine Growth Restriction. She scheduled me an induction appointment one week before my due date without my permission and without checking my cervix to obtain a Bishop Score. A Bishop Score measures five points to determine how likely it is that an induction will be successful: cervical dilation, consistency and effacement, and baby’s position and station.

Even knowing nothing about birth, I knew I didn’t want an induction. I felt it in my bones that my baby was not ready. A few days before my induction appointment, I sought a second opinion from a different OBGYN who said that it was safe to decline induction. So I called my doctor and let her know that I was not showing up to my induction appointment.

At 39 weeks, my water broke. I was told to go directly to labor and delivery at the hospital before contractions started. This is not evidence based, by the way.

I was given a cervical check upon admission and was 0 cm. An IV was placed after seven tries and they started antibiotics. Then I was given an amniofusion via transuterine catheter to replace some of the amniotic fluid that was gushing out of me. The nurse shoved the catheter into my uterus, blood gushing everywhere, and said, “There, now you’re 1 cm.”

After a couple hours with no contractions, the nurse came in and told me that my doctor was ordering her to start pitocin. She said sometimes smaller babies don’t tolerate it very well and that’s why they were using an induction medication that could be administered through my IV. She didn’t wait for my response, there was no consent. Just terror. Any rational person who saw my face would not consider it consent.

I told my husband to go home to sleep for a couple hours because he was suffering a back injury at the time. I told my mom to go home out of irritation. I was all alone.

Then came the epidural. Pitocin contractions are often quickly followed by an epidural because they’re unnaturally strong and don’t align with the body’s natural hormones during labor. This is also how pitocin causes fetal distress.

The rest is a blur. I never saw a doctor the entire time I was at the hospital. No one helped me change positions even when my baby’s heart rate was dipping for extended periods of time. I was on my back the entire time. About nine hours after I arrived at the hospital, I was told by my doctor over the phone that I needed a cesarean because my baby wasn't tolerating all the medications.

I was so defeated from everything else that I’m surprised I cared as much as I did when I received this news. Before this day, I had never had an invasive procedure. I’d never had an IV placed. I’ve never broken a bone. Never had surgery. The terror I had already felt increased exponentially.

I called my husband and he returned for my cesarean. They wheeled me to the OR, vomiting from all the medication. The OR nurses were chatting about life like I wasn’t having the most terrifying experience of my life. Come Thou Fount was playing in the background as my OBGYN started cutting. I felt God’s presence.

“Jaymie you have like no fat!” she said as she cut each layer of my flesh. I didn’t say anything. I could not have cared less.

I heard Emerson’s first cry.

“Aw, he’s so tiny!” she said. Again, I said nothing. I was just trying to survive. The nurses cut his cord immediately and held him on my neck for skin-to-skin. Then she stapled me shut and I was taken to recovery.

All I remember was being so thirsty. I kept asking for water but the nurse said I wasn’t allowed. I thought I was going to die of thirst. I held Emerson in recovery and he was able to latch and feed right away. I was so relieved that at least breastfeeding was already going well despite everything we endured.

For the rest of my stay at the hospital, I had way too many interruptions coming into my room including visitors. Every time I would close my eyes, someone else walked in. I got no sleep which made recovery really difficult. In the middle of the night I had to call and wait for the nurses to come hand me any baby because he was screaming and I couldn’t get up.

They removed my staples before I was discharged and sent home. My incision would reopen a few times and get infected over the first few weeks before it finally healed.

I tell this story not to promote fear, but to emphasize the importance of not “just winging it” with your birth. Please don’t just wing it. Read the books, take the class, ask the questions, choose a provider who matches your values and supports your goals, and be aware of ulterior motives.

And make some mom friends if you don’t have any. Storytelling has been lost on our culture and we can learn so much from other women’s experiences in this space.

Next I’ll tell my HBAC (home birth after cesarean) story, which I promise is way happier.