Tag: pregnancy journey

Okay. The long-awaited birth story is finally here.

And fair warning: this is going to be way too much information. But I need to tell the whole story because I need to get it out of my head. It’s really hard to write this without crying because, for me, this was traumatic. And I think part of what makes that complicated is knowing how common so much of my story actually is.

I know I’m not the first woman to have an emergency C-section. I’m not the first mom whose baby has gone to the NICU. I’m not the first person whose birth plan went completely out the window. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t traumatic to me.

So let’s go back to Sunday, September 13.

We already know I was stressing about life. I had just moved back to California and was trying to mentally prepare myself for living in someone else’s house, being away from my normal routine, and generally feeling like I had absolutely no control over anything.

I had already written about going out to eat, coming home, and then feeling blood that felt like a period. Naturally, this sent me immediately into panic mode.

After I wrote that post, we ended up at the hospital.

When they checked me, I was 2 centimeters dilated, which explained the bleeding. But because there was so much blood, they couldn’t tell if my water had actually broken.

I thought it had.

I had used the restroom, and afterward it felt like I was still leaking even though I was done. But they couldn’t confirm whether my water had broken or not, so they monitored me and let me labor naturally for a couple of hours.

And that’s when we started noticing that some of the contractions I wasn’t even feeling were causing stress on the baby’s heart rate.

So the plan changed.

They decided they needed to induce me.

Originally, they wanted to use Pitocin. I asked if there was another option because I really didn’t want medication if I didn’t absolutely need it. I had also heard approximately one million horror stories about Pitocin making contractions significantly more intense, and I was already trying to avoid unnecessary pain.

So instead, we went with a cervical balloon.

And honestly?

I would do it again.

Did it hurt? Absolutely. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that thing was a magical spa experience. It hurt a LOT, and once it was inserted, I definitely started feeling my contractions.

But I liked that it felt like a more natural option and allowed me to stick closer to what I had originally wanted.

Which brings me to something that feels almost funny looking back.

When Hector and I first started dating and first started talking about having kids, I constantly said, “I’m probably going to want a C-section.”

I didn’t want to deal with labor pain. I didn’t want to deal with labor itself. Honestly, the entire concept sounded terrible.

Then we actually started trying to have a baby, and apparently my brain decided to completely change its mind.

Suddenly I wanted the full natural birth experience.

No epidural. No pain medication. I wanted to labor naturally. I wanted to be present and conscious and involved in the entire process.

I wanted a birth plan.

And technically, we didn’t even have the physical birth plan with us because this was happening as an emergency.

But the hospital was actually really great about following it verbally.

They dimmed the lights. I was able to labor on my side with the peanut ball. We were doing things that helped both me and the baby relax. I was actually feeling pretty good about things.

And then…

The balloon came out.

And that’s where all hell broke loose.

I was at 4 centimeters.

Then I jumped to 6 centimeters in about two hours.

And the contractions started affecting the baby’s heart rate again.

Except this time, it was worse.

She had such a significant reaction that she passed meconium. I think that’s the word. Honestly, at that point, I wasn’t exactly taking notes for my future medical terminology exam. I was just trying to have a safe baby.

They told me there was meconium in the amniotic fluid and that they needed to perform an emergency C-section.

And maybe this process technically took longer than it felt like it did, but I swear to you, it happened in approximately ten minutes.

One second I’m laboring.

The next thing I know, I’m getting an epidural.

Then I’m being rolled into an operating room.

Everything was happening so fast.

And that was probably one of the hardest parts for me.

When something is an emergency, there isn’t time for everyone to stop and explain every single thing happening.

There isn’t time for:

“Okay, Eryn, here’s what’s happening.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“This is going to be okay.”

“Now we’re going to do this.”

It was just GO. GO. GO.

I started panicking.

I was shaking so badly, which I was later told was a normal response to the shock and medication, but at the time I had no idea what was happening to my body.

I started hyperventilating.

I had a full-blown panic attack on the operating table.

I remember desperately wanting them to stop everything.

And then I threw up during the C-section.

Which, because apparently my body wanted to collect every possible complication like Pokémon, meant they gave me more medication.

And that’s where things get really difficult for me.

I ended up sleeping through part of the C-section.

The important part.

I slept through them showing me my daughter.

We didn’t have immediate skin-to-skin.

And I didn’t get that moment I had pictured in my head where my baby was born, they put her on me, and I got to immediately see her and hold her and process the fact that holy shit, that’s my baby.

She was born just before 6 in the morning.

I wasn’t fully aware again until closer to 7.

And because I was so heavily medicated, confused, exhausted, and overwhelmed, I felt disconnected from her.

That has been one of the hardest things for me to admit.

I love my daughter. Obviously.

But I didn’t have that movie moment.

I didn’t have the moment I had imagined for months.

I had a panic attack on an operating table and then woke up after my daughter had already been born.

And I think part of me is still grieving that.

But wait.

There’s more.

Because apparently my uterus wasn’t done ruining my plans for the week.

I had gestational diabetes during pregnancy, which meant the baby had to have her blood sugar checked for the first 12 hours of her life. They prick their little foot, check the number, and if everything looks good, eventually they stop.

If the numbers aren’t good, the clock starts over.

Her first two numbers were great.

Her third number was too low.

So we restarted the clock.

Another 12 hours of foot pricks.

Everything was fine.

Until she was about 27 hours old. We were done with the test, but she was shaking so horribly. We were told that babies do not shiver. So we check her blood sugar just to be safe.

Her blood sugar dropped to 37 when it was supposed to be above 50.

They told us they would try again, but if it was still too low, she would have to go to the NICU.

They had me continue breastfeeding and supplement with donor milk, which helped a little. Her blood sugar went up, but the next two tests were still below 50.

They weren’t 37 anymore, but they still weren’t high enough.

So they took my baby to the NICU.

And that was when I experienced what I would describe as my first bout of postpartum depression.

I completely fell apart.

We were told that parents could stay in the NICU as long as they wanted.

I went twice.

About an hour and a half each time.

And then I couldn’t do it anymore.

I felt guilty.

I felt helpless.

I felt like my baby had been taken away from me, and I didn’t know how to make it better.

And then another thing happened.

Because she was in the NICU, she was given formula and a pacifier.

And she stopped latching.

So now I went into my second bout of postpartum depression.

First, I wasn’t producing enough milk.

Now my baby wouldn’t breastfeed at all.

And this was especially devastating because I had only ever planned to breastfeed.

We literally had three bottles before we went to the hospital because I figured we’d use them after I pumped.

I was pumping in my hospital room.

And nothing was happening.

My milk didn’t actually come in until the night before we left the hospital.

I saw a lactation specialist every single day we were there because I was determined to figure this out.

And then, finally, my baby came back to my room.

And weirdly enough, the moment she was back with me, I started feeling normal again.

My milk came in.

She was with me.

We were together.

And suddenly I wasn’t drowning anymore.

We eventually got home.

The first two days were actually great.

We were figuring out our routine. I was learning her cues. Things felt like they were finally settling down.

And then her umbilical cord fell off.

Which, as you may have already read, sent me directly into another spiral because apparently my brain had decided that every completely normal newborn occurrence was an emergency.

We had just gotten home.

We had just started figuring out some kind of routine.

I thought I was finally understanding her.

And then suddenly I’m staring at an umbilical cord and thinking, WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS INFORMATION?!

Thankfully, she was fine.

But emotionally?

That was my third bout of postpartum depression.

And then there’s the other thing.

My blood pressure.

My blood pressure skyrocketed after she went to the NICU and still hasn’t returned to normal.

In fact, my blood pressure is the reason we stayed in the hospital as long as we did.

The baby was ready to be discharged Thursday.

I wasn’t.

We had to wait for my blood pressure to come down.

And now we’re home, and it’s still high. If it continues, I may have to go back to the hospital.

And honestly, that possibility scares the shit out of me.

Because if I have to go back to the hospital, I’ll be going alone.

Hector and the baby won’t be there with me, and I genuinely don’t know how I’m going to handle that after everything that just happened. I just spent days in a hospital watching my baby get taken away from me, going through an emergency C-section, having panic attacks, being separated from her, and trying to process everything that happened.

The idea of walking back into that hospital by myself is terrifying.

And this whole thing is killing me because I was already an anxious person before pregnancy.

Then pregnancy came along and basically said, “Oh, you think you’re anxious now? Hold my juice box.”

And now it feels nonstop.

First it was pregnancy anxiety.

Then birth anxiety.

Then the emergency C-section.

Then the NICU.

Then breastfeeding.

Then her umbilical cord.

Now my blood pressure.

It feels like the second I finally convince myself that we’re okay, something else happens that makes me question whether we’re actually okay.

I know some of this is normal new-parent anxiety.

I know I’m exhausted.

I know my hormones are all over the place.

But knowing that doesn’t magically make the fear disappear.

So that’s where I am right now.

Home with my baby.

Recovering from an emergency C-section.

Trying to figure out breastfeeding.

Trying to figure out motherhood.

Watching my blood pressure.

And trying to process what the hell just happened.

And that’s honestly why I’m writing this.

Part of me needs to calm myself down.

Part of me needs to let out all of the disappointment I’m feeling about my birth experience.

Because I told my mom something that I think really sums up what I’m struggling with.

I’m not necessarily upset that I had a C-section. I’m upset that I didn’t get to follow my birth plan.

I’m upset that I wasn’t in control.

And if you’ve been reading SomePunnyBunny for any length of time, you already know I’m a bit of a control freak.

I like plans.

I like knowing what’s happening.

I like being prepared.

I like knowing what comes next.

And during this entire experience, there were so many moments where I had absolutely no control.

I couldn’t stop things when I wanted them to stop.

I couldn’t make things happen when I wanted them to happen.

I couldn’t keep my baby from going to the NICU.

I couldn’t make my milk come in.

I couldn’t make her latch.

I couldn’t control my blood pressure.

I couldn’t even stay awake long enough to experience the birth of my own daughter the way I had imagined.

And I think that’s what I’m actually grieving.

Not motherhood.

Not my daughter.

Not even necessarily the C-section itself.

I’m grieving the experience I thought I was going to have.

Because yes, what I went through was traumatic.

Watching my baby go to the NICU was traumatic.

Having an emergency C-section was traumatic.

Waking up and realizing I had missed part of my daughter’s birth was traumatic.

But I also know that so much of what happened is incredibly common.

Women experience emergency C-sections.

Babies go to the NICU.

Breastfeeding doesn’t always go according to plan.

Birth plans change.

Postpartum emotions are complicated.

None of that makes my experience less valid.

And I’m trying to remind myself that I don’t have to be grateful for every part of what happened just because the ending was okay.

I can be grateful that my daughter is here and still be sad about how she got here.

I can be relieved that she’s healthy and still be traumatized by watching her get taken to the NICU.

I can love being her mom and still admit that the transition into motherhood has been harder than I expected.

And most importantly, I can accept that I cannot control everything.

Because apparently motherhood has decided to teach me that lesson approximately 47 times in the first week.

The most important thing is that my baby is here.

For the most part, she is healthy.

She’s home.

I’m home.

We’re figuring it out.

And maybe that’s enough for right now.