My Roller Coaster Journey Into Motherhood

Finally... an update

2008-09-03T16:43:00.003-04:00

Well, it's been a really long time since I posted. So much to say, but I haven't really been sure how to say it. I've been on a really intense internal journey for the past eight months or so... and it's felt right to keep it close to the vest. I'm still not sure how much I'm going to spill the beans on my blog today.. .

... But I do feel like it's time to zap some new energy into this blog.

I haven't read my blog in a long, long time... but I do remember that there are a lot of feelings of anger, bitterness, depression, and sadness in the earlier posts... especially during the PPD era.

I don't want to take those posts off, because I remember that when I was going through my PPD awfulness... it was so helpful (and reassuring) to read that other normal women were going through the same thing.

I have a feeling if I read back through my blog, I would remember some semblance of that woman... but she won't feel like me anymore. I've been slowly but surely leaving her behind. And I want to make sure that moms who have had bad birth experiences or PPD know that things WILL GET BETTER. That's part of my impetus for writing this post. I need to complete my story a bit.

This journey to healing from my son's birth has taken a long time... but wow, how powerful it's been. Truly a roller coaster.

I am now 5 1/2 months pregnant with my second child. I never thought I'd get to the point when I'd feel ready to get pregnant again, and face the thought of another birth experience and another postpartum experience. And perhaps, when we decided to conceive (and we're one of those lucky couples who simply have to think about getting pregnant, and poof, we are)... I wasn't really 100% ready. I just wasn't adamantly opposed to the thought of being pregnant anymore. So I said to my husband, "Let's go with this, because I may never be in this slightly-ready place again!" I knew that pregnancy was long, and I'd have time to adjust to the thought :)

So here I am pregnant again. Loving the glow and fun and energy of the second trimester. It's been an interesting road getting here though.

The first trimester, I thought I was doomed to repeat everything from the past. I felt the same physical symptoms. Nausea, queasiness, food aversions, fatigue, heart pounding, you name it, it was the same from my pregnancy with my son. I had a hard time separating out the physical yuckiness from the postpartum depression I had. In fact, I kept asking my husband if he thought my PPD had come back. He said, "NO, you're just not feeling well." He was right. Thank goodness. I knew it too, but it was nice to have him confirm it for me.

Oh, there were differences, too... like the fact that I didn't have to figure out how to wear a wedding dress five months into the pregnancy (thank goodness, because I was in maternity wear 3 months into this pregnancy!). My husband was in between jobs, so he could take over more of the care of my son, and figuring out what I was willing/able to eat during the worst food aversions. Don't know what I would have done without him.

I did a lot of preparation in anticipation of this pregnancy... from cutting back the amount of time I spent working ON my business... to unsubscribing from as many emails as possible... to creating quiet space for myself... to assembling a care team (more on them later).

But it's still one thing to think about being pregnant... and another thing completely to actually BE pregnant.

What has kept me sane this time around? Sane isn't exactly the right word. I'm actually excited about the birth process and welcoming a second child to the mix. Wow.

Well, like I said, I have a great care team in place. I've been seeing the chiropractor every week (sometimes more)... acupuncturist every month... I've had a massage, a craniosacral session, a shiatsu massage, and I've been to see my homeopath. I have a birth care provider who I can trust, and who knows my story. I feel very well supported.

The homeopathy helped me tremendously when I had PPD (just one dose pretty much did away with it for good), and it helped again during the first trimester. My holistic doc pretty much hit the nail on the head when he said, "You know... your life is really well set up for you to have a great pregnancy. The only reason I can see for your yucky first trimester symptoms is the fact that your subconscious is unwilling to let go of your fears and experiences from the first pregnancy. Because your subconscious is holding on to the first experience, your body isn't able to tell that this is, indeed, a different pregnancy... with a potentially different outcome for you."

How true that was... I was stuck in the past. I was literally making myself sick over the thought of replaying my first motherhood experience.

And so I set out to try to help my subconscious realize that this pregnancy, this birth, this postpartum period could and would be very different.

The first thing I had to do was fire my therapist. For while she was helpful in helping me come to grips with ever having to have a C-section again, she also seemed pretty incapable (or unwilling, perhaps?) to entertain the thought that I could plan for and have a remarkably wonderful birth. She wanted to focus on preparing for the negative... while I want to focus on preparing for the positive. I firmly believe that my state of mind will impact the kind of pregnancy, birth and postpartum experience I have. So I want to surround myself with people who will help me build that positive image up. The therapist had to go - she just didn't get it.

We're not really telling people about our plans for this baby. We haven't divulged our due date to anyone (not really necessary, since this little babe will come whenever he/she wants). We aren't finding out the sex of the baby... again... no need... he/she will be whatever he/she is! We aren't sharing where we've decided to birth, or with whom, or how. It's no one else's business, really... and it's our birth to plan and prepare for. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about our birth last time... and any birth scenario we unveil will cause someone somewhere to do some kind of worrying... worry which we don't need to absorb. We've made our decisions, we feel really, really good about them, and we're ready. I' m not really talking birth with many women, except those who I know support the kind of birth mentality I have, because again... why do I need to absorb worry, fear, or negativity? I spent enough of my postpartum period under that umbrella, thank you very much!

The other thing I've done which really has helped is I've been dedicated about going through my imaging CDs. I've been visualizing this upcoming birth. At first, this was really hard. I couldn't get through a few seconds of visualization without hearing the doubts, "But your birth won't end up like this. You don't deserve this. Something will go wrong." Those negative voices kept popping up... and they ma stde me so mad and sad that I stopped doing the visualizations for a while. Then I realized that those were past beliefs... old beliefs that simply had to be let go of. So, now if they pop up (and they still sometimes do) I send them on their way... and go back to my visualization. I've got a lot to let go of, and slowly but surely I'm doing it. Now, the positive image is outweighing the old, negative ones.

I realized that with my last pregnancy, I didn't have much time to truly prepare. It was a surprise pregnancy. We switched to our home birth plan about 6 months into the pregnancy. Looking back, I realize that I spent more time reading about the dangers of hospital birth, and the dangers of birth interventions... then I did actually visualizing and believing in my own birth. Perhaps that played a part in sending me down the path I went down? I'm not saying that it was all my doing... my son's energy played a part in it, too. There were two of us at play in the birth. But I was definitely giving more energy to birth fears than birth dreams. This time, I'm doing my very best to switch that around. I don't fear birth as much as I did last time.

I don't fear what will happen to my body after having a baby. I don't fear losing myself as a woman. I don't fear becoming a washed-up mom. I don't fear a lot of things I feared last time. I find that protecting myself from the anxiety-ridden messages that are out there everywhere has been really helpful in preparing my mind and spirit for this new little one.

This time, we found a care provider within 8 weeks... much faster. This time, I didn't have to really do any reading about pregnancy or birth (I did it all the first time!). This time, I didn't freak out when my heart started pounding... or I couldn't work out for a few months... or I was eating crap for a few months. I knew it would all sort itself out by trimester #2 (which it did).

I have a neighborhood babysitter and a daycare provider for my son 2 days a week. That is worth its weight in gold!!! I have a prenatal yoga teacher I adore... and neighborhood I love to walk in every day.

This time around, I know moms in my area, and I'm part of the Holistic Moms Network now. Heck, I know my town now! Both of these things weren't available to me last time around, since we had just moved, and I was the first person I knew to have kids. This time, I'm not planning on trying to actively run my business while taking care of a newborn. I have a PCP, a holistic MD, a few therapist I can call on, an acupuncturist, a chiropractor, and many other wellness experts I can call on if I need support at all. I'm part of a PPD task force who I know will help me out in any way that they can... if I need that help.

But I have a feeling I won't. I'm much better prepared for motherhood this time around. I hold no fantasies about showering every day, answering emails, being on time, getting things done. I pretty much intend to breastfeed every day... and feed myself and my son... and if those things get done... great. Anything else? Simply a bonus.

I guess you can say my expectations are a lot more realistic this time around. I will be gentler with myself... and I will make sure that I have people/things in place to support ME after the birth.

Funny enough, I spent so much time and energy preparing for the birth last time (or as we've uncovered already, preparing to fight potential birth interventions) that I never really looked past the birth to the actual motherhood piece of it. This time, I hope to savor that piece.

OK, more to say, but my shoulders are getting tired, and it's time for some yoga/stretching.

I hope that this post added a bit of much-needed update to the way that my energy has shifted since I last wrote. There may be more to come... or maybe not. I'm not sure yet. These days, I'm just going with what feels right.

Insurance Companies Rejecting Women Who've Had C-sections

2008-06-02T17:38:00.003-04:00

I received this from ICAN (International Cesarean Awareness Network)
and wanted to pass it along... it's sad how the effects of C-sections can go on and on, impacting every aspect of life.

*******

Insurance Companies Rejecting Women with History of Cesarean
Some Companies Require Surgical Sterilization for Coverage;

Trend Gives New Imperative to Learn Ways to Avoid Unnecessary Cesarean

Redondo Beach, CA, June 1, 2008 – As reported in today's New York
Times, ICAN has begun tracking an alarming new trend of insurance
companies refusing to provide health insurance for women with a
history of cesarean surgery. In some cases, women are being rejected
for coverage outright and in other case they are being charged
significantly higher rates to obtain the same coverage as women
without a history of cesarean. With over a million women each year
undergoing this surgery, this practice has the potential to render
large numbers of women uninsurable.

This trend surfaces as the rate of cesarean surgery, including
unnecessary cesareans, continues to rise. In 1970, the cesarean rate
was 5%. In 2007, it was 30.1%. Experts often cite the incentives
within the health care system for driving up the rate of cesarean
unnecessarily, including physicians' medical malpractice fears,
better reimbursement for surgery, and lifestyle conveniences for care
providers and staffing efficiencies in having more '9-5' deliveries.

'Women are caught in the middle of a dysfunctional system. Doctors
are telling them they need surgery, even when they don't, and
insurance companies, who are tired of paying the bill for so many
frivolous surgeries, are punishing women for the poor medical care of
doctors,' said Pam Udy, President of the International Cesarean
Awareness Network (ICAN).

The trend is highlighted in the cases of women like Peggy Robertson
of Colorado. When she applied for health insurance coverage with
Golden Rule, her husband and her children were accepted, but her
application was denied. After multiple inquiries directed to the
insurance company, she was finally told that she was denied because
she had delivered one of her children by cesarean. 'It was shocking.
I assumed that as a woman in good health I would be readily
accepted,' said Robertson. 'When I finally found someone who would
explain why my application was denied, they had the audacity to ask
me if I had been sterilized, stating that this was the only way I
could get insurance coverage with them.'

As the incidence of cesarean increases, the evidence of the
downstream medical complications for women and babies, and the
associated medical costs, becomes increasingly apparent. Risks of
cesarean in later pregnancies include increased incidence of
infertility, miscarriage, fetal deformities, overgrowth of scar
tissue leading to bowel problems, and potentially deadly placental
abnormalities in subsequent pregnancies.

And though most women with a prior cesarean are being encouraged and
often coerced into having repeat cesareans by their doctors and
hospitals that have banned vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC), a
pair of recent studies done by the National Institute of Child Health
and Human Development Maternal–Fetal Medicine Units Network
demonstrates that women who deliver vaginally after a cesarean fare
significantly better than women who deliver by repeat cesarean.
(Obstetrics & Gynecology 2008;111:285-291, Labor Outcomes With
Increasing Number of Prior Vaginal Births After Cesarean Delivery,
Mercer et al, and Obstetrics & Gynecology 2006;107:1226-1232 Maternal
Morbidity Associated With Multiple Repeat Cesarean Deliveries, Silver
et al.)

'Most women are looking to avoid cesareans. But physicians often make
surgery difficult to avoid by insisting on non-evidence based
practices,' said Udy. Practices that fail to improve the outcomes for
mothers and babies and increase the risk of cesarean section include
inducing for going post-dates, inducing for suspected large baby,
requiring fasting during labor, requiring women to be confined to bed
for continuous fetal monitoring, and failing to offer continuous
support to a mother in labor. 'These care practices serve the system
well, but not mothers and babies' Udy added.

In fact, women and their babies may be paying a higher price than
being denied health insurance. Last August, the Centers for Disease
Control reported that, for the first time in decades, the number of
women dying in childbirth has increased.
http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nvsr/nvsr55/nvsr55_19.pdf

Experts note that the increase may be due to better reporting of
deaths but that it coincides with dramatically increased use of
cesarean. The latest national data on infant mortality rates in the
United States also show an increase in 2005 and no improvement since
2000.
http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/products/pubs/pubd/hestats/prelimdeaths05/prel
imdeaths05.htm Internationally, the U.S. ranks 41st in maternal
deaths and has the second worst newborn death rate among
industrialized nations.

Women who are seeking information about how to avoid a cesarean, have
a VBAC, or are recovering from a cesarean can visit www.ican-
online.org for more information. In addition to more than 90 local
chapters nationwide, the group hosts an active on-line discussion
group that serves as a resource for mothers.

Women who want to reach their lawmakers can visit
http://www.votesmart.org/. Women who want to reach their state
insurance commissioner can visit
http://www.naic.org/state_web_map.htm .

About Cesareans: ICAN recognizes that when a cesarean is medically
necessary, it can be a lifesaving technique for both mother and baby,
and worth the risks involved. Potential risks to babies include: low
birth weight, prematurity, respiratory problems, and lacerations.
Potential risks to women include: hemorrhage, infection,
hysterectomy, surgical mistakes, re-hospitalization, dangerous
placental abnormalities in future pregnancies, unexplained stillbirth
in future pregnancies and increased percentage of maternal death.
http://www.ican-online.org/resources/white_papers/index.html

Mission statement: ICAN is a nonprofit organization whose mission is
to improve maternal-child health by preventing unnecessary cesareans
through education, providing support for cesarean recovery and
promoting vaginal birth after cesarean. There are 94 ICAN Chapters
across North America, which hold educational and support meetings for
people interested in cesarean prevention and recovery.

Contact: Gretchen Humphries (734) 323-8220

Write your state and national representatives about this:

U.S. Congress Representatives:
https://forms.house.gov/wyr/welcome.shtml

Senate:
http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm?
OrderBy=state&Sort=ASC

State Representatives: http://www.votesmart.org/

State Insurance Commissioners: http://www.naic.org/state_web_map.htm

Do I have to go see "Business of Being Born?"

2008-01-29T20:04:00.000-05:00

In the past month, I've received 20+ emails from people who ask me, "So, have you seen this movie? It totally looks like something you should see!" And then there's a link to "The Business of Being Born" movie.

Yes, I know about the movie. I've known about it for many, many months now.

There are three screenings in my area that I know of (many more, I'm sure).

I haven't bought any tickets yet.

My friends are right, it is totally something I should see.

But I don't want to.

I'm trying to figure out why...

Is it because my PTSD has reared up again, and I'm afraid that seeing this movie will trigger more than just a few tears about my c/s? Well, yes, that's part of it.

But it's more than that. I don't want to see this movie because I've been living and breathing the message of this movie for the past three years. It started during my pregnancy with my son, when I said No Thank You to the hospital medwives and I said Yes to homebirth. It then moved to a disastrous home meeting with my homebirth midwife at the end of my pregnancy, where my son was found footling breech, and all attempts to turn him, and find a provider who would attend a breech vaginal birth... were for naught.

I ended up with a C-section, for lack of a better option at the time. But the journey continued. With 2 years of PTSD and PPD under my belt, I've obviously still got a few remnants of the PTSD lingering (I'm trying to figure out who to go see about that).

The real reason I don't want to go see "The Business of Being Born" is because I've already bought into the message of the movie. I know that the U.S. birth scene sucks. I know about hospital interventions. I know the c-section rate is astronomically high, and it's becoming dangerous just to walk into a hospital with a bulging belly. I know that for many women, homebirth is a safe option.

That's why I PICKED homebirth in the first place, goddammit.

And yet, my birth was still taken away from me... or I was too weak to have faith that I could birth a footling breech baby on my own during my first labor.

Well, I have to forgive myself for that one... and I have. I don't look back on my birth and say, "I should have just locked myself in a closet and given birth on my own." Because I simply can't fathom a UC labor with a footling breech on my first time around. That's asking too much, even of this type A, perfectionist overachiever.

But I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't need the movie to tell me what's going on with birth. I know it. I knew it two years ago, and it didn't change my birth outcome. So, whenever I read c/s stories, or watch movies, or hear presentations by people like Rikki Lake who are trying to educate the public about birth, I think, "But I knew all that... and I still ended up with a c/s." It makes me furious... because I feel helpless. I kind of wish I was a mom who had no idea about any of this stuff, because then the movie would make me feel like I can make a change. But I have no idea what to do about my bicornuate/septated uterus that will probably produce a breech baby next time around, too. Guess I gotta get comfortable with UC?

Seeing this movie will just make me angrier, it will make me sadder, and it will make the grieving process continue. I don't know if I need anymore cathartic experiences to dredge this birth pain out of me. I think I need an empowering birth experience, to feel the power of my own body, to be able to look at my husband and my new baby and shout, "I DID IT!!! MY BODY DID IT! I REALLY DID IT!!!!"

And no movie will give me that.

How Can You Tell?

2008-01-02T15:41:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I wish moms with PPD and PTSD came with signs on their bellies.

Signs that said, "I have PPD/PTSD. I'm having a hard day/week/month/postpartum year. Please be gentle with me. Today, I need ___FILL IN THE BLANK___ from you to help me feel better."

Because it's so dang hard to figure out who's doing OK and who's not.

Now, I believe that ALL new moms need TLC and attention... but moms with PPD and PTSD need it even more than most.

****

A few weekends ago, I visited a woman who had a baby 3 months ago. Her husband used to work with my husband, and I don't know this woman very well... not well enough to say I'm "friends" with her.

I had heard that she had a very easy pregnancy, and a vaginal birth that went well. I knew that she ended up with an epidural, which she hadn't originally wanted (granted, I got the spotty details about her birth story from my husband, who heard them from her husband... so we all know how accurate that birth story is!).

For all appearances, she was doing great 3 months postpartum. Back to working out with a personal trainer, back in her "pre-baby jeans," baby was sleeping through the night, baby was a happy, sweet soul, breastfeeding was going well... and she had decided she wasn't going back to work and felt great about it.

As we were leaving, I gave her Rescue Remedy as part of her new mom gift. She said, "What's this for?" I said, "You know, for all of those times when you feel stressed, overwhelmed... like you can't deal with everything. Rescue Remedy will calm you down. Just put a few drops under your tongue, and everything in your body will chill out."

She looked at me like she had no clue what I was talking about... like I was an alien for suggesting that she feel stressed or overwhelmed after having a baby. I'm pretty sure the Rescue Remedy will get put in the back of some shelf somewhere to gather dust.

I felt instantly foolish and stupid. Her reaction brought me right back to all of those feelings of "I'm not good enough... I'm a terrible mom" for being sad, mad, and unable to deal with anything after Ev was born.

I went through three bottles of Rescue Remedy during those first few months postpartum (heck, first 2 years postpartum!)... and Rescue Remedy hadn't been enough. No, I needed my red wine, too!

How could a mom of a 3-month old be doing better than I had done as a mom of a 19-month old? Gosh darn it, Christi, what a loser you are.

My mind knows this isn't true, but my subconscious speaks louder than my mind most days. She speaks before I can tell her to shut up.

*********

How is it possible, after 2 years of breastfeeding, getting up in the middle of the night to comfort my son, feeding him 3-5 meals a day, dressing him, changing diapers, dealing with tantrums, bathing him, talking with him, singing to him, and obsessing over whether I'm doing things right... how is it possible that I still feel like a mother fraud... a fake?

The truth is, I still don't feel like a mom.

My uterus and my body never got a chance to become a mom. There will always be a gap there for me. Will time allow my heart to close the gap? Will another birth close that gap? Oh, please, please, please, I hope so. 'Cause right now, it feels like I've got amnesia that's keeping me from recognizing that I am a mom.

*********

It's really weird for me to watch myself when I'm around new moms who are doing well. I get very nervous and awkward. I simply don't know what to do or what to say. As I type this, I feel the tears come up... the nerves are still so raw, even after 2 years. Raw in a different way... a detached way... but raw nonetheless.

Part of me is so happy for this new mom friend of mine... happy that she seems to be doing so well.

A different part of me wishes she'd had a traumatic birth, or was having a tough time... because I can identify with that. I know what to say - and how to support - a new mom who's had a C-section, or PTSD, or PPD. I simply don't know what to do around moms who feel empowered by their births... who love their kids unconditionally... who aren't pissed or sad.

I just have such a hard time believing them, for one thing. I feel as though they MUST be pretending, right? I simply can't relate to that experience of motherhood as bliss. Is it even real?

So, then I become Awkward Mom... searching, asking under-the-radar questions, trying to figure out if the mom is really OK, or if she's just pretending for my benefit. And this kind of searching conversation is awkward to do when your husbands are in the room... and even more awkward when you don't really know the other new mom.

*********

Ben and I left the house, got in the car, and drove away. Could she really be doing that well? I hope so, keeping my fingers crossed. But how to tell, for sure?

A few minutes into the ride, I said to my husband, "Well, they seem to be doing great."

He said, "Yep."

Long Paaaauuuusssse.

Then I said, "But you just never know what's going on when we're not there."

Ben said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. You just never know."

And Ben and I sat there in the front seat, sharing a moment of silent knowing. A bonded moment of parental maturity that was laced with sadness and a kind of lost feeling. For we were both remembering what we had been through together these last two years. Although we went through the C-section and the PTSD/PPD at the same time, we experienced it very differently. It was a very, very lonely time for both of us.

So, we sat there, thinking about this new parent couple we'd just hung out with. And there was a heavy cloud of longing in the air, longing for the simple happiness of his friends... of the ease with which they navigated the early months of parenthood. What would our life be like now if our first few years of parenthood had been like that? What would our relationship be like? What would our sex life be like? What would our son be like? Ah, the birth trauma touched so many things... things we'll never get back.

*********

But as we both sat there deep in memories of our own experience... we both wondered... was everything as it appeared for our friends?

Ben and I are all too familiar with the fact that new parents can be good actors and actresses. We were, for goodness sake. The picture that appears on the top of this post was taken when I was in the depths of PPD despair, but you'd never know it to look at me, right? Parents with PPD are very different in public than they are behind closed doors.

********

Something that really frustrates me about new moms is that they all talk like they're fine. What's up with this? Do we feel like we don't have permission to complain and tell it like it really is? When is this darn "Motherhood is bliss" stereotype going to get smashed against the wall into a thousand pieces so we can really, truly talk about what it's like to have your whole world thrown into upheaval?

** I know that not all moms feel this way, but I'm talking on behalf of those who are hurting and having a hard time. **

I'm not sure how to connect with new moms (particularly those I don't know well) and let them know that it's OK to talk about how they're really doing. How do I create the trust and space to allow for that kind of conversation? I simply don't know. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

The funny thing is... I could have said to this new mom friend of mine, "You know... after Ev was born, I had postpartum depression. For 2 years. I never expected it would happen to me... but it did. It was awful, and I didn't even realize what was going on for months. If you're ever feeling down, or depressed, or overwhelmed... and it doesn't feel right... please give me a call."

Now, why didn't I say that to her? Well, because she looked so... good... and happy... and I felt silly saying it. It seemed like this new mom was getting along better after 3 months than I was after 23 months.

HYPOCRITE, HYPOCRITE... Christi, you hypocrite!

Why is it so hard for me to talk about my rough postpartum time? I mean, that's exactly what I get mad at other moms for doing... not telling it like it is. Why do I have such a hard time talking about this with people I know? I have no problem with people I don't know... I have no problem posting it to the masses on this blog... but my tongue gets tied when faced with a friend or acquaintance or family member.

I feel like no one wants to hear it... that it makes me look weak... that this new mom will never feel that way, anyway, so why bring it up?

Argh.

The other part of me simply doesn't want to talk about it, because I don't want reminders of it. It's so painful that I just want it to go away... and not think about it. Maybe that's why we moms don't unite enough to help the new moms who come after us... it's too painful to live through the memories. We've been there, done that, survived, thank God, and we don't want to go back... thank you very much.

It's been almost 3 months since I had my last PPD/PTSD episode... thank goodness. I really do think it's gone for good. But now I'm dealing with the aftermath... how do I behave as a "survivor?" To be continued... if you got this far, thanks for reading. No matter how I try, I simply will never be a concise writer. :)

The Daunting Challenges of PPD Recovery

2007-12-29T14:29:00.000-05:00

HERE ARE THE CHALLENGES I FACED DURING MY HEALING PROCESS

The Logistical Challenges of Recovery:

· Finding out that what I was going through had a label and was a “real thing” was helpful, but then, I didn’t know what to do. Website listed a lot of options, but did I start with the medical tests, the counseling, the support groups, reading, journaling? I just needed someone to tell me ONE place to start. The thing that would help me feel best the fastest.

· I found a lot of websites that dealt with PPD, but I didn’t know where to go after that. They all had phone numbers to call and emails addresses to use, but most were impersonal and intimidating. It’s very hard to pick up the phone and call when you’re not sure who you’ll talk to, or how they’ll respond (or if you’ve got a cranky baby in your arms all the time).

· There was nothing in my new town/area… and most things were in Boston/Brookline/Cambridge, which seemed way too far away. I wanted/needed a community in my area. I'm still trying to find this community.

· After breastfeeding, sleep deprivation, and having your entire life rocked, it was really hard to find the energy and motivation to actually focus on my own health.

· I still had to do everything – make the appointments, do the research, find a babysitter so I could go, figure out how to “fix everything.” I didn’t have the strength or motivation to do so… it’s hard to allow yourself to spend money and time on yourself when you’re not working and bringing in money.

· There was no one who could holistically help me. Meaning, I could go to an acupuncturist OR a shiatsu practitioner OR a psychologist OR a doctor OR an herbalist. But these folks were only looking at pieces of me… and if I wanted the whole of me addressed, I’d have to go to several different people and go through my entire story again and again. That kind of care is expensive, and it’s also way too complicated for a mom who’s depressed. It’s hard enough to take vitamins, much less figure out all of those support systems for yourself. I actually had to have a friend sit down with me, so I could tell her all the options running around in my head, and have her help me figure them out. It was just too much for me at that point. I dream of a place where a woman can go to have all of her postpartum care taken care of... under one roof... with no stress or responsibility placed on her to manage her own care.

The Emotional Challenges of Recovery:

· It’s almost like a cancer diagnosis would be easier, because then at least you get sympathy, and you don’t get blamed for being sad or scared. Many people – especially those who I would normally turn to for support - didn’t take me seriously. My PPD was dismissed/trivialized/ignored.

· I kept thinking I’d get better – but a week turned into a month, turned into a year. Pretty soon, it’s been a long time.

· It’s cyclical, so you think you’re doing OK, then wham, it hits you again… and people get sick of hearing you talk about it. They expect that after a month you’re all better, and they don’t know that you’re still hurting. You get sick of feeling awful, too, and just want it to go away.

The Financial Challenges of Recovery:

· I wasn’t working on my business very much, because I simply couldn’t. Since I wasn’t making a lot of money, it was stressful for me to think about investing in my own health.

· Most of the practitioners who could help me the most were expensive.

The Communication Challenges of Recovery:

· My husband didn’t want to participate in any of my healing journey. He wanted things to get back to normal, but he wasn’t really willing/able to help me or to assume responsibility for it. It was MY problem. He didn’t come to any of the sessions with me, or talk with me about them. I felt very alone, and like it was my problem – and my problem only. I felt extremely alienated from my husband. It was hard living in the house with someone who used to be my strength and support… and then not being able to talk with him about it, because he didn’t want to hear about it. husbands need to be educated on what their wives need from them – they can’t “FIX IT” – they need to listen and be supportive in other ways. They need to help out even more normal.

· When people ask you how they’re doing (if they even do, most of the time, they’re focused on the baby), they don’t really seem like they want to hear about it.

· Care providers dismissed my feelings and concerns. For example, when I went to see the Nurse Practitioner at my new PCP’s office for my physical, I told her that I’d had a traumatic C-section. Her response? “Well, at least you have a healthy baby.” When I expressed concern over the fact that it had been almost a year since my C-section, and I still couldn’t have sex because it was so painful, she responded, “Well, I hate to say this, but some husbands are rough and that doesn’t help.” Then she referred me to a sexual abuse counselor.

· I never knew how someone would respond – people in my inner circle judged me (or that’s how it felt to me). Or if I tried to tell them what was going on, they told me all new moms had postpartum depression, or that my mom cried after I was born, too. They also told me I was wasting my time with my son by being sad.

· I didn’t have a PCP (I’d always taken care of myself). I couldn’t get into one for 3-4 months (which is a LIFETIME for a depressed mom). I didn’t know who to call… did I call my midwife (who’d dumped me)? My OB-Gyn (who’d cut me) and who had only known me for a month? My old OB-Gyn (who I hadn’t seen for a few years and didn’t even know I’d been pregnant)? I didn’t have a care provider to turn to… especially one that would help me figure out natural ways of healing myself.

· It’s hard feeling like you need to pretend like you’re fine when you’re not. I tried telling people the truth, but most people either didn’t want to hear it… or they simply downplayed it and so I simply stopped saying the truth after a while. That made me want to withdraw, which only made it worse.

· The simple fact of the matter is this: most people forget about you after the baby comes. They focus all attention, presents, and energy on the baby. They assume you’re fine and you don’t need help when in reality, you need help well through the entire first year.

· Other moms didn’t talk about PPD – they put up a front like everything’s OK, even if it’s not. It’s hard to know who you can trust, if you want to talk about it.

Other Pieces of my Healing Journey from PPD

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OTHER THINGS I DID AS PART OF MY HEALING JOURNEY:

- When I could, I journaled and got feelings out on paper. When I couldn’t sleep at night, I stayed up and communicated with “real people” via email (ICAN and friends). Sometimes, I wrote emails to my husband and sent them in the middle of the night because, honestly, he’d probably read the email before we’d have a chance to talk it over anyway. This worked for me because I’m a writer and writing helps me be 100% honest, and release what’s inside of me. Creating this blog has been very helpful, especially when I read responses from other women who have found my posts. Very, very helpful.

- I went to the library and tried to find helpful books. Most of them seemed so “surface level” and unhelpful and unreal. Brooke Shield’s book was great, in that it spoke the truth about how awful PPD can be, but her reality (hiring a baby nurse, and having so many financial resources at her disposal) simply didn’t resonate. Plus, I didn’t want to take drugs, so I couldn’t really identify with her treatment choice. The book “Rebounding from Childbirth” by Lynn Madsen was a godsend. This was the book I’d been waiting for, particularly in the way it addressed the PTSD from my C-section. It was focused more on birth than motherhood, so is more helpful from a PTSD standpoint, than PPD. I posted more on PPD books in another post on this blog. Mostly helpful.

- I even tried cooking my placenta – but I didn’t know how to do it. Not sure if I did it right, so I was nervous to take the pills. I finally took some about 15 months after my son was born… I wish I’d had someone to prepare it for me, and I wish I’d taken it right away after the C-section. That probably would have helped tremendously. ???

- Writing my birth stories out and posting them on my blog and sending them to ICAN – making them public. Very helpful.

- Watching my birth video to see what really happened. Helpful.

- Exercise really helped boost my mood, and it made me feel like I had control of something again. It was something just for me, and something that made me feel like I was reclaiming the old, strong parts of me. Having personal trainer help me get on track was a lifesaver, particularly because she helped me with exercises I could do with Evan around, and particularly because she came to my house. Very helpful.

- Eating well played a huge role for me. What helped was making sure I was taking cod liver oil (for the EFAs), getting enough vitamins/minerals, protein (to feel strong), and vegetables. Minimizing sugar, avoiding caffeine and alcohol like the plague. Very helpful.

- I had to use hypnosis/relaxation tapes to help me get to sleep at night, because I had flashbacks. It was really hard to sleep for a long time, but I finally figured out that if my husband told me stories that he made up himself, his voice and the mundane-ness of the stories would lull me to sleep. Helpful.

- I joined a Postpartum Depression Task Force that had just started up in my area (the North Shore of Boston) – I was the only member of the task force who had been through PPD, and so sharing my story and keeping the Task Force honest around the realities of PPD has been very helpful. Also, setting boundaries for myself with the Task Force (I attend meetings, but don’t do much in-between work) has been good for my “keep life simple” mind. Also, knowing 40+ new people who could support me if I got PPD again has been a relief. I’m creating a community that could one day support me, if I need it. It’s good to see how far I’ve come, and it’s great to be in a setting where I can use my mind and leadership skills to help create change. Helpful.

People I Turned to For PPD Support... and their Reactions

2007-12-29T14:27:00.001-05:00

Here are all of the people that I called upon for help… and their reactions to my plea. I rank these according to the level of their helpfulness.

PEOPLE I CONTACTED/GROUPS I WENT TO FOR SUPPORT:

Friends and Family:

- The first person I went to was my husband, Ben, because I needed to hear whether I was making the right diagnosis, and I needed/wanted his feedback. I remember asking him, “Do you think I might have PPD?” He didn’t hesitate for even a split second before responding a firm and loud, “Yes, I do.” He said he was going to bring it up, but he didn’t know if it would offend me or make it worse. He said he didn’t want to talk about it anymore until he’d had a chance to do some research and come back with a “plan.” Two nights later, he came home and handed me a print out which contained a list of “signs that you have PPD” and “recovery methods” that he’d found online. He went through them all, and told me which symptoms he thought I had, and which recovery methods he thought would work. But he didn’t want to talk about the details. I tried to get him to talk about what it was like for me, but he wanted to stick to the list. He simply wanted me to pick a solution and fix myself. Since that initial interaction, there have been many times I’ve asked him to talk about it. Sometimes, if it’s late at night, he says he wants to wait until morning (but then he never brings it up). Sometimes, if I’m up and can’t sleep in the middle of the night, he’ll get up and I know he knows I’m not asleep, but he doesn’t come get me. Other times, he’ll listen, but he won’t ask me questions and he won’t go there… I think it’s too painful for him. He can’t fix it, and that drives him nuts. So he just ignores it and hopes that someone else will fix me, or I’ll just let it go. Not really helpful.

- In fall 2006, I asked a friend and fellow business owner if she would help me brainstorm my options. I could see all my option swirling around in my head, but I couldn’t make sense of them or figure out which to do first. I basically asked her to help me prioritize and create a project plan, which was too hard for me to do on my own. Helpful.

- I emailed and called a few other friends, telling them what was going on and asking for support. Some were very helpful (i.e. took me kayaking, and watched Evan while I went to counseling sessions). Others said they would check back in with me, but never did. Mostly helpful.

- I asked my friend and fellow holistic health counselor to call and check in on me every single day for a while. She did, and this was very helpful, because she simply listened. And asked questions. And didn’t judge me. And told me that this was very, very hard, and that she was very, very sorry. She never tired of listening to me, and she told me she cared. Over and over and over again. This was exactly what I needed. Very helpful!

- I told my mother-in-law that I had PPD, and that I would really need some extra help watching my son. I told her because she lives 10 minutes away, and I thought she could be a lot of help. She never brought it up with me again, or asked me how I was doing. Helpful – she babysat for Evan. Not helpful – she never spoke with me about how I was doing.

- I told my parents that I was having trouble getting over the C-section, and my dad said that he was sorry, but he never asked about it again. My mom said things that didn’t make me feel better (like, “I wish you hadn’t gotten so sensitive over the past few years because then the C-section wouldn’t have bothered you” and “I wish that you’d just enjoy Evan now.” I never brought the PPD subject up with her, because I didn’t think she would support me the way I needed/wanted to be supported, so I never said anything. I now know that this wasn’t fair – I didn’t give her the chance. She knew something was wrong, but I wouldn’t tell her… and the longer it went on, the more difficult it was to say anything. Also, my parents had other people who needed their support, and I didn’t want to be another burden, or get too much attention from them. Plus, they live in CA, so besides phone calls and emails, there’s not much they could have done. I didn’t want them flying out to help… that would have made me feel worse, like more of a loser. Not helpful (mainly my fault).

- I gradually found another mom who I identified with… she’d had a C-section and resulting PPD, too, and she wasn’t happy with motherhood, either. Being able to be honest around her was so wonderful. She let me speak my truth, no matter how I was feeling, and I felt I could be honest with her. And seeing that there was another other loving, vibrant, charismatic, passionate, and ambitious woman who wasn’t crazy about motherhood was so helpful for me. It helped me let go of my own self-judgment and blame. Because she was an amazing woman, and yet she hated her birth and she didn’t love motherhood… so didn’t that mean that it was OK that I felt the same way? Very helpful!

The Medical Community:

- I called my OB-GYN who did my C-section, because all the websites said that your OB-Gyn is your first line of defense. My OB gave me what I assume was the PPD test at my 2-week check-up, but didn’t give it to me at my 6-week check-up. I don’t remember her asking me how I was doing emotionally at the 6-week check-up, she only covered physical things. Even if she had asked, I wouldn’t have told her what was going on. I was still in shock, and I hated her because she did my C-section, I wouldn’t want her to know how messed up I was because of it. I just wanted to be done with her. She did know that I was having an extremely difficult time breastfeeding, and trouble with my scar.. I finally called her to tell her I had PPD, and didn’t know where to turn, since I’d moved to a new city and didn’t have care providers up here. I asked her to call me back with the name of a doctor who I could go to (someone with a holistic slant, if possible) to get bloodwork done and rule out physical problems… but her office manager only left the name of an acupuncturist on my voice mail. There was no additional follow-up from them, ever. Not helpful.

- I called several different PCPs in the Andover/Cambridge areas. In every case, I told them I had a bad case of PPD, and needed to get in for a physical and some blood tests to rule out anemia and thyroid problems. In every case, they told me it would be a 3+ month wait. I finally got in to see a nurse practitioner in January (I started calling around to find a doctor in September). Four months is a LIFETIME to wait when you’re depressed. Not helpful.

- To get support around painful postpartum sex, I emailed a physical therapist, but never heard back. I called another physical therapist and was told there was a 4-month waiting list, and to check back with her later. I asked if she could refer me to someone else who did the same kind of work in the area, but she said she was the only one who had this particular level of expertise. She made me feel like I was bothering her by calling. Again, this could have been my level of sensitivity at this point… but when dealing with a mom with PPD, you have to tread oh-so-lightly if you’re a practitioner. You have to overwhelm us with love, because we feel terrible about ourselves. Not helpful.

- I emailed a ND (naturopath) who I’d seen a few months after Evan was born… who was very supportive at that appointment. I told her that I had PPD, and I needed to get some medical support. She never responded to my email. Helpful – the initial visit. Follow-up during PPD time - not helpful.

- At my son’s 5 day check-up, my pediatrician asked me how breastfeeding was going, and when I burst into tears, she sent us directly to a lactation consultant. She never asked me how I was doing in subsequent visits, and in fact patronized me when I asked questions about Evan… telling me that I should be able to find those answers in books. BOOKS? That’s assuming I had time to read… or that I would remember what I read. Neither or which was happening. Then we moved and found a new pediatrician, and he never broached the subject of how we were doing as parents, either. He was a homeopathic doctor, and probably could have really helped to smooth my moods out, but he never asked about PPD. Not helpful.

- I went to see a psychologist for a few sessions, mainly because she was close to me, and because she took my insurance. However, although I went to her to talk about PPD and PTSD from my C-section, she never asked me about my birth. She talked with me about motherhood, and my parents, but she never addressed the issue that was most intense for me at that time… my son’s birth. I had to take Evan to these appointments, so that was frustrating. I spent lots of time trying to keep him happy and quiet… and so I couldn’t really concentrate. Not helpful.

- When Evan was 22 months old, I went to see a holistic MD, who’s also a homeopathic doctor. He listened to my whole story, asked lots of questions, and gave me one homeopathic remedy… and told me, “Let that work on you.” The next month, I went back, told him how I was doing (I hadn’t had a depressive episode that month… which was a first for me)… and instead of feeling sad and overwhelmed, I was mainly irritable and angry. He said, “Good, sounds like the remedy is working… we’ll just let it continue to work.” He also spoke with me about adding more animal fat into my diet… for more Vitamin A and D… and the importance of a high quality cod liver oil. I was already taking cod liver oil, but he gave me a different brand which had a lot more Vitamin A and D… and that has helped. He says that he thinks that changing my diet would have helped ease the depression. The sessions with this doctor really helped – not just the remedies and food changes – but because he really helped me talk through the changes that happens when you become a mom. He helped create an opening where I could slow down and listen to my inner voice. It told me that I had to take a sabbatical from my business… and let go of some of my old passions and commitments, so that I could create space for motherhood. That has made a HUGE difference just in the past few weeks. VERY HELPFUL.

The Healing Community:

- In summer 2006, I emailed my doula, who suggested I get counseling. Neutral.

- In summer 2006, I bartered with a personal trainer to get myself exercising again, and try and figure out exercises that I could do with Evan around. This was very helpful, and helped me regain my physical strength. If she hadn’t come to my house though, I wouldn’t have been able to make it happen. Her house visits saved me. Very helpful.

- In summer 2006, told various holistic health counselors what was going on – some of them called periodically to check in on me. It was also very, very helpful to talk with other holistic health counselors, because they’re non-judgmental, they listen well, they ask great questions, and they helped me see that it was simply OK to feel the way I was feeling… and backed me up on my commitment to continue to try and feel better. Very helpful.

- In summer 2006, I purchased phone sessions from a practitioner in Canada who specializes in helping moms and dads identify with their babies. I wanted to help support my son through all of this emotional turmoil. The counselor ended up supporting me as well as my son. This was mostly very helpful, but our work often made me feel like it was my fault for my son’s fussiness, and that all of the solutions rested on my shoulders. It became too much pressure on me to fix things, and the expense was too great, so I stopped. She didn’t specialize in PPD. However, I loved that I could email her at 3:00 in the morning when I couldn’t sleep, and get all my ugly feelings out, and she would respond. Mostly helpful.

- In fall 2006, I went to five counseling sessions with a birth trauma/postpartum depression specialist in the Boston area. These sessions were extremely helpful, because I could be totally honest, and I felt like she was one of few people who were asking the right questions and creating a safe space for me in a formal therapy environment. I ended up having to stop these sessions because of the cost, the fact that I had to drive almost as hour to get to the sessions, and because I didn’t have anyone to watch my son while I was in the sessions. Very helpful.

- In fall 2006, I was referred to a nutritionist for a quick, complimentary phone consult. He prescribed minerals, vitamins, and some supplement powders… for someone who could barely remember to drink water during the day, it was an incredibly overwhelming routine. Not helpful.

- In winter and spring of 2007, I saw my spiritual counselor in NH once, and spoke with her by phone a few times. The sessions were extremely helpful, but again, the cost was prohibitive. Very helpful.

- In the summer of 2007, I hired a holistic health counselor to help me get my health back on track. In our first call, she recognized that my birth trauma and PPD still wasn’t over and done with, so we started working on that as well. She referred me to someone who does Seemorg-Matrix work, but I’m tired from working with so many people and spending so much money. Helpful.

- A few times, I saw the shiatsu practitioner who’d supported me during pregnancy. I also got several massages. Getting bodywork helped me get over the hatred of my body and my C-section scar. Helpful.

Support Organizations:

- I went online and found a lot of websites. However, these websites were pretty generic, and I wouldn’t dream of calling an 800 number to talk with a stranger. I also felt very overwhelmed, because there were so many options, yet there weren’t any personal connections that I felt comfortable making. The sites didn’t really express the true level of intensity of emotion that I was feeling, they all made PPD sound so ‘benign.’ The writing was very clinical and impersonal. Like C-section writing, most websites don’t do PPD justice. Not helpful.

- I got so desperate at one point that I called Catholic Church and asked them if they knew of any babysitters in the area so I could get help with my son while I got help for myself… I also asked them if they had any women’s groups that I could join for support. They did try to help me find a babysitter, but in the end, no one had any solutions to offer. Not helpful.

- I emailed a local mothers’ group community and told them that I was suffering from the baby blues, and didn’t know anyone in the community. I didn’t get a big response back. Later, they started a Depression group, but I didn’t join because I thought it was behind me… and I didn’t want to go to a group where I didn’t know anyone.

- When my son was about 4 weeks old, I called Jewish Family Services to ask to be assigned a Visiting Mom. The program coordinator came over and interviewed me. It was the one day I was able to get dressed and clean the house. Of course, my son slept the whole time she was there. She found out that my sister-in-law came one afternoon a week, and my mother-in-law came another afternoon a week… and I was denied my Visiting Mom. They said they only reserve Visiting Moms for new moms who have no support. This really made me feel like I didn’t deserve to ask for help, that I was in a good situation and shouldn’t need any other support. Not helpful.

- However, I persisted. And when my son was 6 weeks old, I went to a postpartum group called “This is Not What I Expected.” The group was hosted by the Jewish Family Services, and it was close to my house. It was really helpful in that 1. it was cheap – only $40 for the 8 week sessions 2. I could say whatever I wanted without fearing judgment 3. it was great to be around other moms who hated motherhood, too – I didn’t feel like such a loser. However, it was frustrating for me because 1. there were moms who’d been there for months, and I didn’t want to think that I’d still be depressed months later 2. they didn’t facilitate the group at all, we basically just sat there and talked when we felt like it, with no facilitation 3. they didn’t help us talk about what we could do differently when we left the space. I didn’t just want to vent, I wanted to identify one action step I could take to change my reality. Semi-helpful.

- I called Jewish Family Services again when my son was 7 months old and I realized I had full force PPD. Peggy Kauffman was one of the only people who truly GOT it and understood what I was going through. She called me back promptly, she made calls to psychologists for me (recognizing that I would want someone close by, and might not have the motivation to call to see who would accept my insurance). She even called back once to check on me, which left such an amazing impression on me. I did meet with her to talk about scheduling some sessions, but the $150 per session fee was simply too steep at that point. Could have been helpful.

- I joined ICAN – the International Cesarean Awareness Network, and became a part of their yahoo email group. I was able to read stories from other moms who felt like I did… and post about my honest feelings of depression, anger, grief, etc. about my C-section and motherhood. This was EXTREMELY helpful – this group of women are compassionate, caring, and honest. This has been a godsend, and I don’t know where I’d be without it. The list also helps me see how much I’ve grown, because I get to help other moms… and through posting and writing my experiences, I get a cathartic release. Very, very helpful!

- I asked everywhere for babysitters, so I could get some alone time and time away from my mother duties… it took me eight months to find a babysitter in my area for my son. Helpful once I found someone.

My PPD/PTSD Symptoms

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My PPD/PTSD Symptoms

· I experienced a lack of energy – felt like I was dragging all the time.

· I was often unable to sleep – I was up late at night with insomnia.

· I didn’t like motherhood and I didn’t want to talk about my birth to anyone.

· I avoided phone calls and people.

· I had dreams that I died during surgery before Evan was born.

· I cried for 3 weeks straight before he was born.

· I wasn’t even sure why I was even on this earth – I asked myself what the point of life was a lot.

· I wasn’t interested in eating well, and I drank wine during the day straight out of the bottle.

· It felt like I couldn’t remember to do even one little thing for my own health – drink water, taking vitamins… these seemed too difficult.

· I had flashbacks to my son’s birth ALL the time.

· I experienced feelings of gloom, grief, anger ALL the time – these feelings were like a cloud over my head that never went away.

· I didn’t want to have sex – I had no interest in being physically intimate with my husband.

· I didn’t want to hang out with Evan – I resented him and didn’t like when he cried. I didn’t even like my son for the first 12 months of his life. I loved him, but I didn’t like him. Because in my mind, he was the one who made me feel this way.

· I didn’t feel like a mother at all… I thought others knew how to take better care of him than I did. I didn’t go out with him for a long time (it took me three months to get up the nerve to take him to the grocery store) and I didn’t even think about signing us up for mom & baby events or classes.

· I didn’t want to go out and meet other mothers – I had no interest in trying to pretend like I was fine when I wasn’t. I hated being around myself, I couldn’t imagine that others would want to be.

· I got really jealous, sad, or mad when I heard of moms having good births, or liking motherhood. Those positive feelings felt so foreign to me – I thought they must be lying.

· I had intense fear and anxiety in the weeks leading up to Evan’s birthday – I didn’t plan a party for that day and didn’t want to celebrate the anniversary of my surgery.

· I had panic attacks and felt intense anger and sadness when I would see a pregnant woman, drive past my midwife’s house, watch a birth/parenting show on TV, or enter a doctor’s office.

· I had trouble recalling the details of my son’s first six months of life. I didn’t keep a baby journal or write any letters to him – I wasn’t interested in any of that.

· I disconnected from my family and many of my friends… except people with whom I could discuss the C-section and my true feelings.

· I didn’t think my marriage would last, or that I would ever like motherhood.

· When I look back on the videos I took, I look happy. But I don’t remember any happiness. To the normal outsider, I would look completely happy and content. But on the inside, I was screaming out for help.

· During the first few months, I wanted to escape into my business… but then, as the PPD got stronger, I had trouble motivating myself to do my work. Still, no one would have known this, because from the outside, I was still working a lot.

· I had insane mood swings – I felt bipolar, in a way. I had bursts of anger, long bouts of tears, I would scream and yell in my house, and I’d stay in my bed or in the shower for long periods of time.

· I went to the movies a week after Evan was born, and didn’t want to go back home. I dropped my father off at the airport two weeks after he was born, and I didn’t want to go back home.

· I actually thought about leaving my husband… and son.

*****

Things that made me realize I wasn’t in the same ‘motherhood’ space’ as many of my friends:

o Amara sounded like she was coping just fine 3 months after birth – and she wasn’t mad or depressed like I was

o Kirsten emailed me and asked about Evan – but I never asked any moms about their kids – I never even thought to ask – when they asked me, I never even really cared about asking about their kids

o When a professional organizer emailed me about the fact that “it’s hard to keep up once you’re a new mom, because the clothes are constantly getting outgrown” I assumed she was talking about MY clothes, not my son’s baby clothes. The baby simply didn't enter my consciousness.

o Kirsten emailed me to ask me to go toy shopping b/c she was addicted to buying toys for her son, and had so much fun with it. I realized I hadn’t bought Evan anything (not clothes, not toys, NOTHING), and he was 10 months old.

o I joined The Mother Connection and only went to the playroom once… I never went to any other events - I couldn't bear to be around other moms - I felt like a fake.

o When my brother called after Evan was born, I didn’t want to talk to him – I wasn’t happy, and I didn’t want him to know about it

o I never wanted to call anyone back when they left messages after Evan was born

o I was pissed off every time a family member from CA called and immediately asked about Evan – what about me????

My warning signs of PPD

2007-12-29T14:23:00.001-05:00

Here are some of the signs that indicated a high likelihood that I would experience PPD:

· My pregnancy was earlier than planned (and not entirely wanted at that point in time), and my son was born 5 months after my wedding.

· I had a traumatic birth – a long C-section recovery, birth was completely opposite the homebirth we’d originally planned. My trusted midwife dumped me at the end of pregnancy and wouldn’t deliver my son.

· Breastfeeding was extremely painful and challenging for the first few weeks, and it took 2 months before my nipples didn’t hurt anymore.

· We moved to a new house and new town (where I knew no one and had no social connections) 3 months after the birth.

· We didn’t have daycare or a babysitter lined up, so I had to take care of Evan while trying to run my business.

A few emails I sent during my PPD hell

2007-12-29T14:08:00.000-05:00

Email to Ben, my husband, 3/11/06 - Evan is 3 weeks old

Hi, sweetie.

I need to talk to you, and since you’ll probably check email before we talk in person, I thought I would just send you an email about what’s going on for me right now. I can’t sleep because I’m so worked up… and I know something is really bothering me because everyone is sleeping right now – even Evan – and I should be taking advantage of this time to sleep since I’ve been up for 4 hours now… but I tried going back into the bedroom to sleep, and I can’t even lay down next to you, that’s how worked up I am.

I am feeling very sad, overwhelmed, and not so great right now. I need you, and I feel like I’ve been trying to tell you that these past few weeks but I’m not sure I’m saying the right things so that you know just how much I need you. So I’ll just try to use email to try and tell you some of the things that I wish I could tell you in person. Everytime I try to say them, they sound so stupid that I can’t get them out of my mouth…. But they’re simmering inside, and perhaps typing them and hitting a ‘send’ button will feel less stupid.

I didn’t feel ready to be a mom before, and I still don’t feel ready to be a mom. A lot of the time, I wish things could go back to the way they were, before Evan. Not because I don’t think he’s awesome. But frankly, right now, I’m just not feeling the mommy love all the time. I don’t feel up to the task of having someone who needs me 24 hours out of the day, 7 days a week. The reality of that is daunting to me right now. I don’t always like the way that life has changed since I got pregnant with him. I feel like I’ve totally lost control of everything… my schedule, my body, my career, my independence, and my relationship with you. And I don’t feel like I had a say in any of it, I just had to take it and be OK with it, even if it wasn’t what I wanted… because doesn’t every woman want to be a mother?

Tonight I was supposed to get good sleep, yet here it is 8:00 a.m. and I’ve been awake since 4:00. I was awake through an entire feeding that wasn’t even supposed to be mine. And I’ll have to feed him again at any time… so the cycle just continues. To be honest, I’m annoyed that I had to be awake through what was supposed to be my ‘sleep’ time tonight. I know that’s petty, but it’s how I feel. Before we went to sleep, you told me you wanted me to get to sleep tonight. Yet, when the nighttime comes, you tell me that I should be around to feed him in case the syringe doesn’t work. That basically means, “Don’t sleep.” You can – and do - go back to sleep if I’m breastfeeding him at night… and you sleep through things and noises that happen in the night… but I don’t have that luxury. I have to be awake to breastfeed him if the syringe doesn’t work and he stays awake… and I have to wake up to pump even if I don’t feed him…. So that whole “sleeping through a feeding” doesn’t happen for me. It makes me resent being a mom, and then I resent myself for feeling that way about the situation, because he’s a baby and he just needs to eat, and it’s not his fault. And you’re tired and you can sleep better than me, and it’s not your fault either. I know you wanted me to be able to sleep last night. But in the end, it didn’t work out that way… and again I was awake through the feeding, and then beyond. It just doesn’t feel fair. When that happens, I find myself resenting you for just falling back to sleep and leaving me there to feed him again, or nag you awake. Just because I have the breasts doesn’t mean I want to stay awake and feed him. I guess I have this intense sense of ‘fairness’ and being a mom isn’t a ‘fair’ thing – but I guess I’m still thinking that it should be. I know I’ll have to let go of that.

I’m still feeling pretty yucky, physically, and I’m having a tough time transitioning into full-time mom stuff. I’m sure it will get easier, but right now, it feels like a continuation of pregnancy, where someone had taken over my body and it’s not mine anymore. I feel like all I am right now is a milkmaid, and sometimes I wish I just didn’t have to feed him. My body feels totally unsexy, and hurts and is swollen and leaks everywhere… and although I’m trying to get over the C-section thing, I’m still pissed that I had to be cut open, and had to go through this kind of recovery.

I told you that one of my biggest fears was that a baby was going to mean that I would just take a permanent backseat in your mind, and I feel like that’s already happening… and it’s really tough right now because I still really need you and want you to need me. Before, if I’d been crying like I was tonight, you would have asked me what was wrong… tonight, you pretty much ignored me, leaving me to just cry on my own in bed. That makes me feel so much worse. I told you I was going for a walk… you didn’t even ask me why or what was going on. What does that mean things are going to be for us 5, 10 years down the road? What will I have to do to get your attention? When this whole house sale starts in a few weeks, things will only be busier. And you’ll then have house projects going on… which makes me wonder if I’ll ever even see you when you’re home? How will I ever begin to compete for your attention at that point?

I know all of these things probably sound silly to you, and I’m sure that in a few days or weeks they’ll sound silly to me, too… but right now, I feel about as unattractive and undesirable as a floormat, so these are real concerns for me. How do I need you to treat me right now? The way you did when I was pregnant, where you took care of me and made me feel like I was important to you. Evan may be out of my belly now, but I’m still uncomfortable, and I’m still ‘restricted’ in what I can do, and my hormones are still totally out of whack. Basically I’m still pregnant, even though I look skinnier on the outside. Maybe other women revel in this motherhood stuff, but I’m not yet… and I can’t pretend that I am just yet… because that just makes me feel worse about how I feel. It makes me feel like a fraud if I pretend that everything is OK. At least if I can be honest with you and tell you how I’m feeling, even if it embarrasses me, I can get it out of my system which will hopefully make me feel better in the long run.

I don’t know what else to say. I’ve been up for way too long, and I really should go back to sleep, but I am still too worked up to sleep. Thanks for reading, I’m sorry for the rambling thoughts, and I know I’m totally complaining, but I had to send this otherwise I’d explode at a bad time.

Love,

Email to one of my counselors, 9.13.06 - Ev is 7 months old

I just don’t know what to do anymore, and I’m getting SO tired of this. None of the books help with this night waking stuff, and my husband doesn’t help, even though he means well. He’s just useless in the middle of the night. I feel like my marriage is a mess, and a year after getting married it shouldn’t be like this. I feel like I’m not doing anything well – my business, my house, my mothering skills, my own self-care routine, my food, my sleep, my social life – they’re all just BLAH. I don’t have anything to talk about except Evan, and I don’t even want to go to social functions because, frankly, I have nothing to say, and I’m too tired anyway. I’m just barely scraping by on all of them… and this is NOT the kind of life I wanted. Maybe if I could scrap the business, the social life, the household stuff, and my own care… and just focus on Evan…. I might feel a sense of accomplishment and pleasure. But right now, even though I love Evan to death, I just feel like I want my old life back. And I can’t imagine adding another child to the mix.

Email to two of my friends, 9. 06, asking for help

It was especially helpful for me to have you guys there the other night, because it was a rough day. I feel like I should let you in on what’s going on for me right now. It’s hard because I hate asking for help, but I also know that I really need help and support right now.

I’ve got postpartum depression… I’ve had it ever since Evan was born (well, even longer if you count that last month of pregnancy when the C-section came into the picture). I’ve blamed it on lots of things like not getting enough sleep, moving to Andover and not knowing anyone, not having my career, not knowing what I’m doing as a mom, etc. – and all of these things were factors in the depression – but they’re not what’s causing it.

I don’t know much about PPD… I’m still trying to figure out how to treat it, other than medication (because of breastfeeding I don’t want to go that route)… but everything I know how to do isn’t working. From what I’ve read, it’s chemical/hormonal… so will power can’t fix it. I know, because every day I wake up and try to fix it. It’s like there’s a gap between what I know I should be doing for myself, and what’s actually getting done. Not having a babysitter and time away from Evan isn’t helping either, these days.

It’s not the kind of depression that makes me cry all day (although I do cry) or think of hurting myself or Evan… but I’m just “flat.” I don’t care about much anymore, and I can’t make decisions to save my life. I just go through the day, and I don’t do much, because I can’t. Everything is really hard. And because I’m sad, angry, bitter, resentful, and all that good stuff… I’m hiding from people, because who wants to be around someone like that? Pretending to be OK is a lot of work, and I don’t have enough energy to pretend anymore. If other moms feel this way (and I know they do), they don’t talk about it… so it’s a lonely place to be. I keep feeling like I should be able to snap myself out of it, but try as I might, I just can’t.

So, I just wanted to ask both of you if you’d be willing to check in with me every once in a while, and ask if we can get together. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy… just something to take my mind off of things, and get me out of the house. It’s fine to have Evan with me… I like to have Evan with me… but I have a hard time initiating anything these days… but I always feel so much better when I get out and make something happen. I feel like the last 7 months have just slipped by, and not in a way that I would have liked them to, so I’d like to start changing that.

Email to my husband, Ben on 10.5 - Ev is 7 1/2 months old (we'd gotten to the point where communicating by email worked better than communicating in person). Sad, but true.

… I'm resorting to email... just like in the first few weeks after Evan was born… when you and Evan were asleep, and I was up fuming and upset, and feeling totally alone. So I guess email is the only way I’ll be able to ‘talk’ to you about this.

If I ever leave the bedroom upset again at night, come get me. Don’t let me be down here alone. I know you might not know what to do or say, but at least come be with me so I don’t have to be by myself. Sometimes I wonder if you really love me and know me, because I simply don’t understand how you can stay up there in bed and sleep when you know I’m down here hurting. That completely boggles my mind.

I came down tonight to get you because I was having a hard time. I couldn’t say anything before bedtime because Mike was here. I figured I wouldn’t have a chance to talk with you in the morning because you’d be out tuna fishing. I was hoping you’d ask me how I was doing (because it’s really hard for me to start a conversation by telling you how tough a time I’m having), and when you finally asked me, and I told you I wasn’t alright… you had absolutely no response. No, “Tell me what‘s going on…” No “I’m sorry you’re feeling that way, is there anything you’d like to talk about?” You just went to sleep. When I finally mustered up the courage to restart the conversation by telling you I needed help, you asked if we could talk about it in the morning. That’s the same response you gave me about a week ago, the first time I asked you if you thought I had PPD. You asked if I wanted to talk about it in the morning. I didn’t – I wanted to talk about it then, but it was obvious YOU wanted to talk about it in the morning.

I need your help, Ben. I know you think you’re giving it. But I need more help, or a different kind of help. The help I need changes on a daily basis, so I need you to keep asking me what I need, and do your good job of anticipating/over-delivering what you think I need, if I can’t tell you. Mostly I need you to talk with me and ask me how I’m doing. I need you to ask me what it’s like, how my day was, to show interest in what’s going on for me. And then listen to whatever detailed details/ramblings I talk about. They may sound inconsequential to you, but they’re huge to me.

I am doing the best I can to keep things ‘together’ and look like I’m doing fine whenever possible, but I’m not. It’s like a wave that keeps crashing against me… I get moments of peace when the wave moves back out again, but it always comes back and crashes against me again. It’s slowly making me feel like the shittiest person alive. I wish I had some kind of ‘real’ illness so that people would actually take care of me, because this PPD thing is debilitating in the way that a serious illness is, but no one ‘sees it,’ or they think it’s not a big deal.

You haven’t asked me what this is like for me. You came home with a list of PPD symptoms, and read them off to me, and then got mad when I tried to ‘get into the details’ of what was on your list. I know you keep hoping this will get better and just go away, and so I’m trying to go along with that, but it’s not working. Things don’t change. My day starts out good, but when you leave for work, it starts getting harder. I am trying to pretend, for Evan’s sake, that things are good… but it’s a long day of pretending. I don’t really care about much anymore, and that’s a scary place for me to be. It’s not me.

Do you know how lonely it is here during the day? I don’t know anyone here, I can’t talk with most of the people I know who have had babies because they just don’t get what I’m going through (and that only makes me feel more alienated), the people who haven’t had kids have no idea what to say to me, and Evan just wants all of me, all the time. I have given up all of my business ventures, and while I know I need the time/space… it’s not really time/space, because Evan needs me. And even if Evan was elsewhere, I’d only be left alone with my sadness and anger. So, even ‘getting a break’ isn’t really a break. It just means I’m alone with my depression.

The memory of that last month of pregnancy haunts me, and it never goes away. It’s a flashback that I have in some way, shape, or form many, many times a day. I can’t will it away – I’ve tried – and I can’t rationalize it away – I’ve tried. It’s like this pain that is so deep inside me and it makes me want to just curl up and never have to come out again. It’s like I lost a piece of my innocence, and was totally violated. And yet, I can’t say anything about it, and no one seems to care.

People say “it’s just a scar” and “you have a healthy baby” and “there’s nothing you could have done about it.” Those things don’t change the fact that it made me feel like my freedom, my choice, my body, my motherhood was taken away. It’s what makes me feel like a fraud of a mother, something I have to fight to convince myself is not true every single day. And then the depression just serves to reinforce the fraud feeling even more. So when people say “you just need to meet new people” and “all moms have a tough time at first” or “you just need to find a babysitter” it makes me feel worse… because those things don’t help me.

People don’t ask about me anymore, they don’t ask how I’m feeling… they pay attention to Evan. It’s like I was just this vessel, used for him to come into the world, and now I’ve served my purpose, so I can just be tossed aside. I know that’s not the real deal, but that’s how it feels to me. I miss pregnancy because you used to treat me like a queen, you didn’t get mad at me for needing help, and you gave me help without me asking for it. Now I’m just a depressed mom who doesn’t want to have sex, and I feel like more of a burden than anything.

I know this is more than you expected to have to face this early on in our marriage, but it’s much more than I expected to face. And because my brain and body aren’t working right, I need you to really be there to help me balance myself out. At the very least, when I finally muster up the courage to tell you that I’m not doing OK, I need you to be there with me and support me and let me talk it out. Even if it’s late at night and you want to go to sleep. Because trust me, if it’s late at night, I want to go to sleep too.

Journal entries from the beginning of my PPD hell

2007-12-29T13:30:00.001-05:00

These are some journal entries I wrote during the beginning of my PPD struggles. I haven't edited them... Please note, I usually consider "Crappy" to be a swear word... so please pardon the profanity in this post... it shows you how "not myself" I was at this point in motherhood.

Email from 3.28.06 (Evan is 6 weeks old)

Ben came home tonight at 8:30, 12 hours after he left this morning, and took him from me so I could eat dinner and read the sleep book. I tried going in to talk with him about how frustrated I am, but we’re on totally different wave lengths, and somehow, trying to talk with him just doesn’t help these days.

I asked him if he was having fun, and he said, “Yes, I am.” Great, that’s because he only has to deal with Evan for 3 hours out of the day. Try 24. I told him I wasn’t having fun, and he gave me a look. I feel like I’m totally letting him down, because I’m not supermom, and because I’m not having fun. I never wanted to be a mom. I still don’t want to be a mom, but I don’t feel like I can tell anyone this. And yet I’ve got this baby here who isn’t going to go away, and my identity is completely gone now. All I’ve been identified with for the past 6 weeks has been a mom, and it’s not an identity that I want.

We went to a mommy&baby movie today, and we only saw 10 minutes of it, while he was breastfeeding. The rest of the time he was crying, and I couldn’t calm him down. I’m too nervous to take him anywhere, because I feel like he’s going to fuss the whole time, and I won’t be able to calm him down. That doesn’t help the new mom feelings of inadequacy.

The worst part is that I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. The other moms I know all are happy with being moms. At least that’s how they appear on the outside. I can’t talk with families about it because I don’t want to look like a terrible parent. I just can’t identify with that word, “parent.” It’s not something that I associate myself with yet. I’m sure I will, but right now, I don’t. I feel like a fraud, someone who’s pretending to like something that causes her frustration and stress.

I don’t look forward to waking up in the morning anymore because the days are so long and lonely and tiring. I don’t look forward to going to bed at night because I know I won’t get good sleep. My incision hurts, my stomach is flabby, I don’t get any quality time with my husband anymore, I haven’t had a good bowel movement in weeks, I’m totally exhausted, I can’t work out, my nipples hurt, my house is disorganized. Having a baby doesn’t cancel those things out.

I am too selfish to have a baby. I want to go back to the time when I was able to do things for ME.

March 2006

It’s now 1:00 a.m. and I’m not asleep. Even though Evan is asleep. Why? This is f*cking killing me, that my baby is asleep now, and yet I can’t sleep. I’m too worked up to sleep… I want to act like Evan. I want to scream, yell, throw a temper tantrum. I know what he feels like when he’s too tired. I know what it’s like.

I wish someone could explain to my husband that it’s normal to have a weepy, emotional, unconfident wife for the first few months. We’re having a tough time talking through this stuff, which is rare for us. Of course, trying to do it while there’s a baby crying in the same room… or when you’re going on 5 hours sleep… doesn’t help. He’s thrilled to have Evan, and he has always looked at fatherhood as something totally fun. Whereas, I dreaded motherhood, and I’m not having the ‘fun’ that he claims to be having. So, he just doesn’t get where I’m coming from. Don’t know if he ever will. I tried telling him how I was feeling last night, and he didn’t say anything in response… which didn’t help matters.

I wish other moms would talk about it – everyone seems to have everything under control, and no one talks about having any trouble… so it seems taboo to even mention it. You know me, though… I’ll bring it up, no matter what. I need to tell people what’s going on – it’s the only thing that gets me through tough times. But, it’s been weird with this… It’s very lonely. I’ve been feeling this way pretty much since I got pregnant, since I wasn’t ready to be a mom when Evan decided to show up, and he was a surprise… I feel like I’m still trying to adjust to everything… and after losing my pre-baby identities… and then assuming this new mom identity that I don’t’ feel ready for, and frankly, don’t feel good at yet… all while having a C-section which feels like a total violation of my body and spirit… it’s just a lot to deal with. Add to the fact that I’m not able to really eat well, drink lots of water, work out, sleep, run my business, have quality time with my husband, feel the skin above my pubic area, touch my breasts without wincing, wear my old clothes, do the things I want to do… and I guess it all makes sense.

4.7.06

I want to drive away and not come back. I am sick and tired of being the only source of food for my child. Evan is hungry yet AGAIN tonight, and my nipples are sore and tired, and I don’t want to feed him. It’s almost midnight and he’s supposed to be asleep. Ben asked me to get the bottle for him, but I don’t want to, because that was supposed to feed him tonight, so I could finally get a night of full rest.

Today I didn’t get anything done. Nothing. I didn’t even get to write an email. I didn’t get to any of the things that I had down on my list. All I did was try to entertain Evan and keep him from crying, and the only way I can keep him from crying is to feed him. He was the only kid in mommy dance class today who was crying. All the other kids were sitting there being alert and happy, and he cried through the entire second half. Again, the only way I could keep him calm was to feed him. I guess that answers the question of whether or not I’m going to sign up for the class. Why would I pay money to sit there and breastfeed Evan during a class?

I need more free time. A lot more. Alice came today for a little over an hour, and basically I got to shower (didn’t have time to dry my hair), make some soup from a box, get the stupid vinegar solution ready for Evan, and then my time was up. Great. What a wonderful relief time for me. What the f*ck? Showering, eating… those are necessary things for survival. Yet, I don’t even have time to do those on a regular basis. I didn’t get to take a shit today either… f*cking Evan is making me constipated, and that’s NOT cool at all. It makes me really pissed off. I worked so hard to get my stupid bowels working, and the birth and everything that has happened afterward screwed it all up again.

I want to be able to be away from him for 12 hours, and have a LIFE again. I have no life. And I don’t see how my life is ever going to come back. I’m sick of wearing stupid shirts to hide my stupid huge ass nursing bras. I’m sick of treating this f*cking thrush. I’m sick of hearing him cry. Why won’t he stop crying?

There are people who want to work with me, and I can’t work with them, because I’m stuck at home all day trying to keep a baby from crying. This is NOT what my brain was meant to do. I wish my life could go back to the way it was.

Looking Back: My PPD Journey Revisited

2007-12-29T13:26:00.000-05:00

This is part of a document I wrote for PPD Task Force that I'm on... it was my way of summarizing my PPD journey.

I'll break this document into several different posts... because, like everything I write, it's really long!

This section will be an overview of what PPD was like for me... and how I figured out something was terribly wrong.

**********

Looking back, I think it’s quite possible that my Postpartum Depression started the very moment I found out I was pregnant. So I guess you could say my journey began with Prenatal Depression. I remember that moment well…

I was alone in the bathroom in the dark at 1:00 a.m., waiting for the little pink pregnancy stick to declare my fate. My husband Ben told me later:

“I could tell what the result was before you came into the living room. You let out a sound of despair.”

I hate that my first reaction to my unborn child was one of despair. But that’s the truth. I can’t change it now, I can’t rewrite the past. I came out of the bathroom doubled over, my hand over my mouth, and I wandered around that apartment until the sun came up… wondering what the heck I was going to do.

The truth is, at some point in my life, I did want to get pregnant. But this wasn’t the time. I wasn’t ready to be pregnant at this time. It was five months before my wedding, my business was booming, and gosh darn it, I had a sexy wedding dress to fit into!

Looking back, I see that bits and pieces of the depression started surfacing at that time… poking up into my consciousness here and there. It got worse as the first trimester nausea set in and my body weakened, but I could always squelch it back down for a little while. I used the wedding, honeymoon, and baby planning activities as coping mechanisms – they distracted me from my depression.

I remember feeling very strongly that I didn’t want to be pregnant. I tried to hide those feelings, though, for two main reasons:

1. I felt like I had to keep a happy face on to pretend like it was all part of the master plan. Since Ben and I weren’t married yet, we didn’t know how people (our families, friends, my clients) would judge us.

2. I didn’t want the unborn child in my womb to catch on to the fact that his mom wasn’t ready for him. Not at that particular moment in time, anyway. I knew that the baby was soaking up all of my emotions… and so, I thought that if I covered up my anger and sadness, that he wouldn’t pick up on it. My negative feelings were very strong, so I countered them by throwing myself headfirst into the world of birth planning. If I could only plan a great birth, do lots of prenatal yoga, and look great as a pregnant woman, and do lots of reading about natural childbirth… that I could wash away the feelings of angst and resentment that I had towards the pregnancy. It wasn’t that I hated my baby… but I did hate the position that my baby put me in.

My entire life changed in an instant… and I didn’t ask for it… and I wasn’t ready for it. So, my PPD actually started when my baby was the size of a speck of dust. For the most part, I managed to hide it and pretend it wasn’t there.

That is, until January 16, 2005 when I was 35 ½ weeks pregnant. That was the day when my two midwives and their assistant came to my Cambridge apartment, birth tub in tow. They looked around the apartment and declared it suitable for a homebirth. Then they discovered that my baby was breech (head up) and they told me they wouldn’t deliver him at home. My entire world came crashing down.

We looked into other options, and had a consultation with an OB who’d done breech deliveries in the past at our original hospital, but she wouldn’t deliver my son. At the end of a few tearful weeks, it looked like our only option was a Cesarean-Section.

This is when my depression came back roaring with a vengeance. I couldn’t contain it, I couldn’t hide it, and I couldn’t hide from it. It overwhelmed and overpowered me like a wave crashing on me, over and over and over again.

I remember crying almost nonstop for days after getting confirmation that my son was breech. I cried so much that even my husband (who’s not a big proponent of counseling or self-help) said, “I think you need to get some help. Do you think you should talk to somebody about this?”

I remember dreaming that I was watching myself die on the operating table, and I woke up sobbing from that one. But the baby wasn’t here yet, so I didn’t think this was depression. Now I’ve learned that birth-related depression can actually start (and can be the strongest) in the third trimester of pregnancy… but I didn’t know that back then.

Then Evan was born. The C-section was extremely traumatic, in ways I can’t describe in just a few sentences. I’ve written extensively about the birth itself in other posts on this blog.

I cried for the first few weeks…but I thought it was the baby blues. I went to a postpartum support group six weeks after my C-section. I sat in a roomful of women and talked angrily and sadly about my experiences as a mom. All of the other women were on medication for Postpartum Depression (PPD). I felt bad for them, but I was glad I didn’t have PPD… I was just really, really pissed off and angry about my C-section. That’s all.

I went online when Evan was a few weeks old, to take some tests to see if I had PPD, and at that point in time I met almost all of the criteria. But I thought I’d get better soon… after all, I wasn’t depressed or anything. I don’t get depressed. I’m too self-aware, too healthy, too strong, and way too in tune with myself.

Then we moved to a new house three months after Evan was born. I was still crying a lot and being angry a lot and I still didn’t like my son… but I thought that I was just having problems adjusting to being in a new house in a new city.

I signed up for a Money and Business course (by phone) when Evan was 5 months old. Interestingly enough, several people in that group were depressed. I felt bad for them, but was glad I wasn’t depressed. I was just having flashbacks and crying spells from my C-section. That’s all.

It took until I was 7 months postpartum for me to realize that something very serious was wrong with me and my reactions to new motherhood. I remember that day very well. I was on the phone with another holistic health counselor, and we were planning a support group for new moms (ironically enough). This other new mom had an empowering natural vaginal birth with her 3-month old son. As we spoke about our first few months of motherhood, I could hear – quite clearly and distinctly – the difference between the ways I was talking about motherhood… and the ways she was talking about motherhood.

We were both talking about sleep deprivation and a loss of freedom and the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding and getting our babies down for naps. The topics were the same. But the underlying tones in our voices were very different. There was an anger, bitterness, frustration, resentment, sadness, grief, and depression present in my voice that simply wasn’t present in her voice. I was shocked to realize that not all new moms felt the way I did… not all of them were depressed and still in shock from the experience. The way that she remembered her birth was almost the exact opposite of my memories of my birth. Her birth had empowered her and made her feel confident in herself. Mine had made me feel disempowered and violated.

That was the moment in time when I knew something was wrong with me. So, seven months after Evan was born, I found myself taking the same PPD tests I’d taken when he was a few weeks old… and I was scoring just as high. I also found a few sites that talked about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, you don’t have to be a prisoner of war to get PTSD – you can get it from a traumatic birth. So, as it turned out, I had a combination of PPD and PTSD… a double whammy.

Looking back, I should have known (and someone else should have caught on) that depression was in my future. I’d never been depressed before, so I didn’t even know that it was a possibility. I’d heard about PPD, I’d read about it, but it was similar to the C-section in my mind – I never thought it would happen to me. And it if did happen, I simply thought I could handle it. And the old Christi (non-mommy Christi) might have been able to.

Summary of PPD/PTSD Books

2007-12-29T11:48:00.000-05:00

As part of my healing process from Postpartum Depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after the birth of my son, I read many, many books on this topic.

I read some of these books when I was deep in my own depression, and I read others when I was almost out of the depression. At that point, I was thinking of writing my own book... and wanted to see what I had missed during my first reading session.

There are many PPD books out there, and I must share with you that I found nuggets of wisdom and help in every book that I read. They were all similar, yet very different.

Different books will appeal to different readers...

When I was most depressed, I wanted to read stories written by other moms. I wanted to hear about their yuck, their anger, and their grief. I wanted to know I wasn't alone, and that I wasn't crazy. Most of all, I wanted to know that I would come out of it... for at that point, it felt like I would never, ever surface from my PPD hell.

When I was almost healed, I wanted to read more about the logistics and details of PPD... I wanted to uncover - in a sane, coherent fashion - what I had just gone through in such a dazed stupor. I wanted to see if there was any stone left unturned... and what I would do differently next time.

The books that I've summarized here contain both types of reading experiences. I've included my own synopsis of the books... but please keep in mind that these are my own personal responses... not my professional responses.

Here's a link to the list of books:

http://www.bostonhealthcoach.com/ppdbooks.html

I Know I Should... But I Can't... Because...

2007-09-19T13:58:00.001-04:00

In my research on PPD, I came across a lot of websites that offered simple-sounding suggestions for how a mom could heal from PPD. As time went by, I tried all of these suggestions personally, and I found that they weren’t as simple or accessible as they sounded at first.

Here are some common suggestions for moms with PPD, and here are my reasons why they aren’t always realistic options:

“Talk openly about your feelings with your spouse, family, friends, and healthcare provider.”

THIS OFTEN ISN’T HELPFUL BECAUSE PEOPLE OFTEN DON’T UNDERSTAND. They simply want to fix things, rather than listen to you and ask questions. Often they will only say things that make you feel worse. They often don’t want to hear what you have to say, because it either is too hurtful or painful for them… or they have their own healing to do. Other parents often haven’t had this same experience, or they have amnesia and have forgotten how tough it is… so they can’t identify with you. Other parents are having a tough time, and they are trying to keep themselves afloat, and they don’t have the energy to help you. People who aren’t parents yet simply can’t comprehend what you’re going through. Healthcare providers don’t always offer any support beyond drugs. Grandparents usually just tell you to enjoy your time with your baby, because it goes so fast.

Ask for help with baby care from friends and family.

YOU OFTEN DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU CAN ASK FOR HELP, BECAUSE THAT MAKES YOU FEEL WEAK. Our culture doesn’t make it OK to ask for help. And even if someone does take the baby for you, then you’re along with your grief. Or you spend the whole time simply doing errands or emails, which doesn’t help you heal. And then you feel worse, because you can’t even take care of your child. In our society, it’s not OK to ask for help, and other people are often so busy that they don’t have time to help you. They’re stressed with their own families and lives. Moms often have to pay for help, because there are few family members or friends around to help out.

Eat a healthy, nutritious diet.

WHEN YOU’VE GOT PPD, YOU CAN BARELY FEED YOUR CHILD, MUCH LESS YOURSELF. It’s hard enough to eat well when a child isn’t involved, but when you’ve got a baby to take care of, all energy and effort is focused on feeding them, not you. And… to make it more complicated, most new moms don’t know what a healthy, nutritious, post-birth supportive diet looks like. Even if they did (like I did) they may not be able to implement what they know. For example, they might be able to get to the store to get the food. But layer on prep time, kitchen clean-up, and actual eating time…and eating for recovery becomes very challenging, if not impossible.

Exercise for more energy. Walking, which is a mild exercise, can help.

WHEN YOU HAVE PPD, YOU’RE LUCKY YOU GET OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING. Getting a workout in often requires more energy than you have. You’re just too tired. And if your body isn’t back into pre-baby shape, that can add to your depression. Sometimes, just the prospect of loading the baby into the stroller and getting out the door is just too much.

Join a postpartum depression support group, such as Postpartum Support International (PSI), Postpartum Education for Parents, or National Association for Mothers.

AGAIN, THERE IS NO INCENTIVE, BUT THERE IS OFTEN NO MOTIVATION. There are lots of websites with 800 numbers. But it’s rare that a depressed mom is going to pick up the phone and call a stranger. It’s very difficult to admit you’re depressed (often, moms may not even know they’re depressed). Most websites seem clinical and impersonal, and so you think it doesn’t apply to you. And, most new moms never expect they’ll get PPD, so they don’t know about any resources available to them before they find themselves in a tough situation. There’s an element of guilt and shame associated with having PPD, so it requires a ton of courage to ask for help.

If I Get PPD Again... My Wish List

2007-09-19T13:56:00.000-04:00

If I ever get PPD again, here’s my ultimate wish list:

1. Someone who could work with me to coordinate my recovery, so it doesn’t seem so overwhelming and all on ME. This person would:

- Offer help without forcing me to ask for help (because it’s hard to ask). Taking a test at the OB’s office is only a starting point – I would want someone to read between the lines and listen between my words, because I may not tell the full truth on the test. The 6-week check-up needs to go beyond the physical effects of birth.

- Help me get an official diagnosis

- Help me verbalize what’s going on, and figure out how to ask for help.

- Coordinate my care - contact my insurance, make appointments

- Help me find childcare

- Be consistent and continue to check in with me regularly, even weeks or months after my initial request for help (because I probably still need help, but I’ll feel silly or weak or like a nag if I ask for it).

- Talk to my spouse about what I’m going through, so it becomes “legitimate” and I don’t have to do all the explaining and feel weak.

2. Someone who comes to my house – like a visiting mom – every week (at least in the beginning!). Someone who checks in on me every single day by phone… to just listen and find out what I need to process that day. I need to talk about what’s going on, because it changes all the time. Ideally, this would be someone who would help me feel more confident in my skills as a mother.

3. Regular, reliable form of childcare so I can get to my appointments or get some alone time.

4. Having my spouse go to counseling with me so it’s not just “my” problem. My spouse needs to listen to me and understand what’s going on, without judgment. The support of my spouse is extra important.

5. Having local people/support groups that I can go to when I need to get out of the house… having people that are online or available by phone when I need to check in at odd hours, or don’t have the energy to go out. It’s important to have access to other moms who feel the same way as I do and are actively trying to get better. I need to hear from other moms who feel the same way I do, so I don’t feel like they have to pretend that I’m OK, or that I’m crazy for feeling the way I do.

6. Having someone who can help me address and manage all aspects of my health –ideally, this would be ONE person (even if they couldn’t handle it all themselves, they could direct me to the right people… who would all coordinate my care as a team, so I don’t have to tell my story over and over and over again… or waste time and money interviewing care providers who aren’t a good “fit” for me). If care providers could come to me, or be in one central place, that would be amazing. Getting to and from appointments is difficult. Having on the spot childcare for my baby would be amazing, too, and help out with the babysitting financial burden. The pieces of health that are most important are:

- Counseling or talk therapy

- Bodywork – massage, shiatsu, acupuncture, chiro

- Exercise

- Nutrition (especially omega-3s)

- Sleep – I need to get lots of sleep!

- Would want to cook and eat my placenta right after birth to prevent PPD

7. Real, honest, personal books and websites to read.

8. I need a cathartic release – through writing, dancing, movement therapy, artwork… whatever resonates with me.

9. I need people to say the right things. I need to hear that I’m doing a great job, and how hard motherhood is. It’s helpful to know that other moms feel the same way, but sometimes that can feel like it downplays how HUGE a deal this is for me. I want people to give it the respect it deserves. They need people to stop telling them how wonderful their baby is.

10. I need something to look forward to every single day.

11. I may need extra TLC around the anniversary of my child’s birth, because that may trigger tough feelings.

12. I need to help other moms who are behind me in the journey, because this makes me feel useful, and helps me see how far I’ve come.

Response to a quote from Jennifer Block's book "Pushed"

2007-09-04T22:05:00.000-04:00

I started this letter on July 27, 2007 – Evan is 17 months old.

I finished it on September 4, 2007 - Evan is 18 1/2 months old.

** Please read my next blog post after this one... and you'll see how complex the road of C-section recovery is. A month ago, when I started this letter after reading "Pushed" I was still very much in angry/sad mode... but you'll see at the end of this letter that I was starting to pull out silver linings from my birth experience. The post that follows ("Did I Need a Cesarean?") will show you how my thoughts and views changed in a month's time. At that point, I was starting to see how the negative parts of my C-section were actually strengthening me and impacting my life in a positive way. For moms who feel like it will never get better... know that a lot can change in just a month. This post and the next one proves it. **

*********************

I just finished reading Jennifer Block’s book “Pushed.” It’s a magnificent book, and I loved everything in it. Much of it made me mad, but I’m glad it’s out there for the public to view.

There was one quote in this book that I feel compelled to respond to. On p. 64, a certain Dr. Crane (an OB who is quoted in the book) says,

“There’s no doubt in my mind that there’s more maternal morbidity with a cesarean. But a hole in the bladder, a post-operative infection – that’s not going to ruin their lives. A bad baby is going to ruin our lives.”

I don’t even know where to begin. This statement makes me so furious. And it very clearly demonstrates why women who enter a hospital for a positive birth are fighting an uphill battle.

If you look at Dr. Crane’s statement, you’ll see a very interesting fact emerge: the life of a doctor is really the doctor’s main concern during labor and delivery. And the life of the baby becomes important to him mainly because if the baby dies, he believes that will ruin his (the doctor’s) life.

My question is: Where does this leave the mom?

And, if Dr. Crane doesn’t think that a hold in the bladder or a post-operative infection ruins a mom’s life, then what WILL it take to ruin a mom’s life, in his mind? Does the mom have to die? What does a ruined mom’s life look like, anyway?

**********

I’d like to address that question from my own personal experience. Since Dr. Crane is a medical doctor, and will assumedly perform many C-sections in the future, I feel compelled to set the record straight. Also, since he’s a man, and will never have to endure the repercussions of a C-section, I feel compelled to tell him the truth about what he’s doing to many of the women that he operates on. He probably won’t choose to accept the truth, but I am compelled to tell him anyway.

The truth is that it doesn’t take a hole in the bladder or a post-op infection for a C-section to ruin the life of woman, her child, and her family. A C-section has far-reaching effects, and these effects go way beyond the physical ramifications of surgery. Many doctors only think about the physical experiences of their patients, and they ignore the fact that there’s a PERSON on that operating table… a human being whose very energy, soul, cell memories, and sense of self-worth are being traumatized as the knife cuts the skin… as the hands reach in to tug and pull the baby out… as the uterus is plopped out of the belly unceremoniously and exposed while it’s sewn up… and as the stitches zig-zag back and forth on once-virgin pubic skin.

THE DOCTOR’S VIEW

From a medical perspective, here are the details of my C-section.

Patient: Christi Collins. 2/15/06 “planned” Cesarean Section for baby’s footling breech presentation. Bicornuate uterus/septum. Picture-perfect operation and recovery. No post-op infection, no hole in the bladder, no spinal headache, no incision splitting, no hysterectomy. Baby and husband were with mother during uterine repair. Mom breastfed in hospital. Baby roomed in the entire hospital stay.

From the medical view of things, one would think that Christi Collins was ecstatic and delighted with the experience. No life ruined here, right? Healthy baby, healthy mom. Picture perfect C-section. In fact, you’d probably suggest that Christi Collins would be an excellent candidate for a repeat C-section, right?

THE REAL VIEW, FROM THE PATIENT’S PERSPECTIVE

Repeat C-section, my ass. Let me, Christi Collins, share with you, Dr. Crane, the real story. You see, you as a doctor only see one side of it. You see us moms drugged up and tied down and so you think (because we are too terrified, numbed, or full of hatred to tell you otherwise) that we are fine. That we are grateful to you for slicing us open and medicalizing an inherently natural process. That we don’t care about what’s happening to our bodies, because it’s all in the name of a healthy baby, after all.

You have the gall to say that a hole in the bladder or an infection wouldn’t ruin our lives? Well, let me tell you that it doesn’t take a hole in the bladder or an infection to ruin a new mother’s life.

All it took to ruin my life was a “picture perfect” C-section.

Let me count the ways…

How EMOTIONAL TRAUMA/PTSD/PPD ruined my life

I went to a postpartum support group six weeks after my C-section. I sat in a roomful of women and talked angrily and sadly about my experiences as a mom. All of the other women were on medication for Postpartum Depression (PPD). I felt bad for them, but I was glad I didn’t have PPD… I was just really, really pissed off and angry about my C-section. That’s all.

I signed up for a Money and Business course (by phone) when my son was 5 months old. Interestingly enough, several people in that group were depressed. I felt bad for them, but was glad I wasn’t depressed. I was just having flashbacks and crying spells from my C-section. That’s all.

That was the moment in time when I knew something was wrong with me. I’d gone online when my son was a few weeks old, to see if I had PPD, and at that point in time I fit almost all of the criteria. But I’d forgotten about it (or the sleep deprivation took over, I’m not sure what happened, to be honest!). Seven months later, I found myself taking the same PPD tests and scoring just as high. I also found a few sites that talked about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, you don’t have to be a prisoner of war to get PTSD – I got it from my “picture perfect” C-section.

How can PTSD wreck a mother’s life? Well, imagine that you can’t stop thinking about your surgery at all… You see, people ask me how much I thought about my C-section when I was in the depths of my PPD… and the truth is, I can’t remember when I DIDN’T think about it. It wasn’t in the front of my brain all the time, but it was always present in this persistent, underlying, dull, lingering, aching sadness or anger. These feelings never fully went away. At times, I felt like a zombie. I would play with my son, and the second he’d turn his back to pick up a block, I would feel my face go limp. Trying to pretend that you’re OK… when you’re not… is exhausting. Especially when you’re trying to pretend in front of a baby all day long.

There were sharper PTSD memories, too. These were flashbacks to the surgery itself, and the weeks leading up to the surgery, when I knew that my homebirth dream had come crashing down. These sharp memories were accompanied by insomnia, floods of body-wracking tears, angry yelling fits, extreme aloofness and despair. The memories were triggered by specific experiences: breastfeeding my son, going for a run, seeing a pregnant woman or a new mom, seeing any birth shows on TV, hearing my son cry, seeing my son, seeing my scar, attempting to have sex with my husband. All day long, I got constant reminders of my C-section, and they would plunge me back into despair.

The worst part is… most people don’t even know I’ve had trouble since Evan’s birth. See, that’s the thing, Dr. Crane… moms who are depressed usually don’t say anything to anyone. Because they’re not allowed to be unhappy. They have to be happy because they’ve got a baby. And a baby is supposed to make you happy. At least, that’s what everyone else says.

I’m not like most people, though. I’m pretty honest about what’s going on with me. I also knew that I needed help. So I tried telling people. When I finally got in for a medical physical and PPD support, and I told the nurse at the new doctor’s office that I was suffering from the traumatic effects of my C-section, she told me, “Well, at least you have a happy, healthy baby.” No help there… that only made me feel worse.

I called my OB-Gyn and told them that I had PPD and needed help (because that’s the thing all the books and literature tell you to do… tell your OB-Gyn – she’s the first line of defense). She never even called me back… her office manager simply left the name of an acupuncturist on my voice mail. She never checked up with me again. I could have committed suicide and she’d never know.

I tried telling my parents, but they didn’t really want to hear about my pain – they just wanted me to enjoy the time with their grandson because “it all goes by so fast.” I called my doula. I called the Catholic Church (I haven’t been to Mass in years, but I was desperate). I called Jewish Family Services (I’m not Jewish but I heard that they could help – they actually denied my request for a visiting mom volunteer when Evan was younger, but I tried again nevertheless). I told my mother-in-law, but she never asked me about it again. I told my friends, and some of them were really supportive, but many of them never checked in on me again either. Most of them don’t have kids… and the ones with kids didn’t have PPD, so very few people understood. I told my husband, and he tried to help me brainstorm places to get help… and he took care of my son a bit more… but he doesn’t know how to help me… it’s not covered anywhere in those “What to Expect” books. He just wants me to get better, to fix myself. And my husband doesn’t have time to be my therapist – he’s too busy trying to hold the rest of our lives together while I recover from my picture-perfect C-section. Remember, the one that hasn’t ruined my life?

You see, I did all the “right things.” I told the people in my innermost circles. But there was little help for me there. People didn’t understand how bad it was for me. They didn’t know what to do. So, I retreated, and I’ve been with my own pain for a long time. Many people still don’t know how much pain there is for me on a daily basis. So, has that pain ruined my life? You be the judge.

How a LACK OF BOND WITH BABY and – MISTRUST IN MY OWN MOTHERING CAPABILITIES ruined my life

I didn’t like my son for a long time. Like, 7-10 months, that’s how long it took. I didn’t feel a bond with him. To this day, I still have a twinge of regret when I see him sometimes, or when he cries for me. You took away our ability to breastfeed well for the first few weeks, because he was so tired from the drugs. We persisted, but I know many moms whose ability to breastfeed has been taken away because of C-section after-effects. Now, if breastfeeding is one of the best ways to positively impact the health of a baby and child, then couldn’t you say that a C-section ruins the lives of the babies whose moms can’t breastfeed them any longer? Again, you be the judge.

Now, 17 months later, I still don’t feel like a real mother. The C-section took away an important ritual and right of passage whereby my body was supposed to become a mother. What happened was surgery, it was not a birth. My cells and my psyche never got to transition into motherhood. So I find myself not quite knowing what to do with my son, or able to understand how I ended up with this little creature who depends on me.

For the first 3 months of my son’s life, I wouldn’t bathe him. I wouldn’t pull shirts over his head. I didn’t take him to the grocery store, or out to the stores. I wouldn’t put him in his carseat. Those things made him cry, and because the C-section made me doubt my abilities as a mom, I simply didn’t have the courage to do those typical mom things. When other people came over, I assumed that they knew how to take better care of my baby than I did. So I passed him off. The C-section ruined my chance to be a mother to my son for the first year of his life. I couldn’t even plan a birthday party for him, because the thought of February 15 was so painful I couldn’t even face it. I had to go to a therapy session that day and try to re-brand the day into a less painful memory for myself.

How FEAR OF ANOTHER PREGNANCY ruined my life

I am terrified to get pregnant again, because of the fear of another C-section. You have increased my risk of another surgery, simply because you forced me into the first one. If I get pregnant again, my options are extremely limited. You have essentially forced me into a high-risk category that I shouldn’t be in. I will have to fight, claw, and basically hibernate in order to get a natural birth next time around. You have taken away the bliss and happiness of trying to conceive another child. I am terrified of going through Postpartum Depression again.

How SERIOUS MISTRUST OF MEDICAL COMMUNITY ruined my life

I hope to never have to see another doctor again. If I got cancer, I would rather die than have chemo or see a traditional doctor. I am afraid to have my first dental filling, because I don’t want another doctor touching my body. I don’t want any doctors to come near me.

My son apparently needs surgery right now, and I’m procrastinating because frankly, I can’t trust that the doctor is telling me the truth. I can’t understand how a community that is supposed to serve women is taking away their options, one-by-one. Women with breech babies must have C-sections. Women with twins and multiples must have C-sections. Women who are induced, who “fail to progress,” who have “big babies,” who go past their “due dates”… they’re all forced into C-sections. These are not maternal request C-sections. These are C-sections that earn more money, keep you from getting sued, and increase the convenience of a nicely-balanced work-life schedule. If doctors were truly looking out for their patients’ well-being, they would provide them with options. They would consider the moms’ needs and desires over the insurance/malpractice companies’ mandates. So, you have basically told me that for my next birth, I must remain at home, and if I cannot find a homebirth midwife to attend my birth, then I will birth alone.

Ah, but perhaps you think that THIS concept (meaning, an unattended homebirth) will ruin my life by putting myself and my baby in danger… maybe I’ve got you at last!

How a 15-month pause in my SEX LIFE ruined my life

My husband and I were not able to have sex for 15 months after our son was born. 15 months. Tell me this, Dr. Crane… would 15 months of no sex ruin your life? It can sure ruin a marriage. Luckily, I have a loyal and understanding and very patient husband… but I can tell you that there were times in the last year and a half that I thought our marriage was ruined. Not because of anything my husband said or did – he was amazingly patient and kind and gentle. But because you lose intimacy when you can’t have sex. We lost intimacy. We became roommates. I almost took off and left a few times. I’m sure he wanted to, as well. Not only do I feel like my body is “broken” because of the C-section, but now I’ve got a ruined sex life to add to my brokenness.

Why would a C-section ruin a sex life? Well, I’m sure you’d have no problem understanding why a rape victim might have problems having sex after a rape. So, now you know why I’m having problems having sex after a C-section. That C-section that you said wouldn’t ruin my life… well, it felt like a rape. It was brutal and it was traumatic. I was powerless, out of control, and forced into something that I DID NOT WANT TO DO. In case you’ve forgotten what you’re doing there at the end of the operating table… you are CUTTING into my skin. While I’m awake. While I can hear you… smell the burning flesh (my own flesh)… and know that my virgin belly was being ripped open. You are a man, so you’ve never had a C-section. Why don’t you try staying awake for your next major surgery, and tell me how that feels? Oh, and don’t try to tell me that I can’t feel anything during surgery. That’s bull. Let me jump on your stomach, over and over, and you can tell me if you don’t feel anything.

The C-section happened at night. So, pretty much, my nighttimes feel like I’m reliving a rape over and over. Makes night sex pretty much impossible. Daytime sex? Well, then it’s light out, so I can see my scar, which makes me cry and reminds me of my rape… I mean C-section… so daytime sex is out, too.

I’m also terrified of getting pregnant again. It’s hard to enjoy sex (or even want to have sex) when you’re terrified of getting pregnant.

But again, the C-section hasn’t ruined my life or anything.

How THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS/HOURS SPENT ON COUNSELING AND SUPPORT ruined my life

Lest you think I’m simply wallowing in my despair, and trying to hold on to this event… let me tell you that my goal is to let it go and get over it. I have seen/talked with/met with TEN different counselors, trying to climb out of the depths of my despair from Evan’s birth. I’ve seen three people who specialize in traumatic birth counseling. I’ve seen a traditional psychologist. I’ve worked with three holistic health counselors and a spiritual counselor. I’ve had sessions with a shiatsu practitioner and a clinical nutritionist. I’ve waited months to see a traditional MD to get blood tests run to rule out physical causes of my depression.

I called more than 9 different doctors, trying to get in to see someone. The average wait time? THREE MONTHS. My life was ruined in an instant, and they want me to wait THREE MONTHS before I can start to get help? Three months feels like a lifetime when you’re depressed, and you’ve got a little baby to take care of and new motherhood to adjust to.

So, as you can see, I’m not sitting here wallowing in my despair. I am trying, desperately, to get help. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on this counseling, trying to get over an event that earned you thousands of dollars. If/when I ever get pregnant again, I will need to continue this counseling because of the intense fear I feel about perhaps having to deal with you and a C-section again next time around. But as you said, “It’s not going to ruin her life.” But it sure as heck has ruined my bank account. On that note…

How LOSS OF INCOME/BUSINESS SLOWDOWN ruined my life

As you might imagine, all of this counseling and depression jazz sure takes a toll on my mental and emotional capacity to run my business. You see, I’m a holistic health counselor… it’s my job to support other people and help them get healthier. When a holistic health counselor is so depressed she can’t even feed herself… when she’s so tired and in so much pain from a surgery she never wanted… when she’s focusing on just making it through another day… then she is in no place to support her clients, do lectures, facilitate teleclasses, write books, write magazine articles. I put my book on hold because of my C-section. I put my business on hold because I need to get better first. I’ve lost tens of thousands of dollars of business income because of this one “picture perfect” surgery… but of course, it hasn’t ruined my life or anything.

How DECREASED SOCIAL OPPORTUNITIES ruined my life

When a woman is depressed from her birth, they tell her: “Just go out and hang out with other moms!” Well, that doesn’t work. Let me tell you why. When you’re depressed, the last thing you want to do is go out and put on a happy face and try to pretend like everything is OK. The last thing you want to do when you’re a traumatized C-section mom is hear stories of vaginal births… or hear moms tell of C-sections that they liked (because most of them are lying, but they’re too much in denial to tell the truth). Contrary to what you hear (or what ACOG tells you), most moms don’t want C-sections. It’s just that most of them are too tired or scared to tell you how they really feel. That’s why I’m writing this to you.

I felt like a failure for having a C-section. Seeing pregnant women, moms with new babies, strollers, hospitals, doctors, etc. all made me relive that horrible memory. So, I literally couldn’t go out in public. It was too painful. And I was terrified that someone would ask me about my birth story. Who wants to hear someone tell them the story of how they were raped during their child’s birth? No one wants to hear that.

Here’s the other reason why I lost out on a lot of the “Mommy & Me” social events after my son was born. I was in too much pain to go. My other mom friends were out and about… but I could still barely even move around my own apartment. And remember, I had a “picture perfect” recovery. But I sure as heck missed out on the first few weeks. Remember, I wasn’t allowed to drive, I couldn’t lift my son’s carseat, I couldn’t carry groceries, and I sure as heck couldn’t get his stroller down from our 3^rd floor apartment. You sent me home with a newborn, and yet you told me I couldn’t lift his carseat. How in the world does that work, exactly? Lucky you, you’ll never have to find out.

HOW SURGICAL PHYSICAL RAMIFICATIONS ruined my life

You may notice that I haven’t mentioned many physical side effects of the surgery. Aside from the intense digestive problems that surfaced for 15 months after my C-section antibiotics were given… I haven’t had many physical problems. Thank goodness. Many moms have post-op problems that are debilitating to their bodies and crushing to their psyches. I was lucky enough to avoid that fate. But I have no idea what will happen the next time I want to get pregnant. Will I be able to get pregnant? Will my scar cause problems? Will I rupture? Will I be able to find a care provider who will attend the kind of birth I want to have… or will I be forced to labor alone or travel to a different country or go underground to find a care provider who doesn’t consider me to be a ticking time bomb? You see, my C-section has forever labeled me high-risk. The physical ramifications remain to be seen, but you have forever complicated things for me. You’ve taken away birthing options and you’ve lowered my confidence levels just enough to make the self-doubt creep a bit. You have ruined the innocence of my next pregnancy.

THE GOOD NEWS

When I think about the good that has come from my C-section, there is one silver lining. It has made me mad. It has made me mad enough that I will never, ever accept what you say as truth. I will fight to help other mothers avoid my fate.

You see, I was a well-educated woman. I was healthy. I’d planned hard for a natural birth. I’d prepared physically and emotionally. I’d read a ton about birth, and I thought I’d almost all but eliminated my chances of having a C-section by planning a homebirth. Well, now I know that even smart, well-meaning, strong women have C-sections. And now I hold no judgment for women who have C-sections. I know that most of them have these operations because they have no other choice, they’re not given accurate information, because they’ve been beaten down by their doctors, the media, their families, the TV shows and books that make them feel like they are broken. I never realized how strong the pressure was on women to succumb to C-sections until I was in the situation myself.

If you tell women how strong they were, instead of telling them they’re defective, they wouldn’t submit to C-sections. If you tell a woman you’ll be there to support her during labor, instead of telling her you’re going on vacation so you need to induce her, she wouldn’t submit to a C-section. If you tell her that her pelvis and body are designed to know exactly what to do to birth a baby, instead of telling her she’s too small, too large, too bony, too fat, too late, etc., she wouldn’t submit to a C-section. If you told moms that their bodies, their intuition, and their babies know exactly the right timing to start the labor process, instead of telling them they need to push the kid out by 40 weeks and under a 12-hour time table, then they wouldn’t submit to C-sections. And less lives would be ruined.

If I’d had my homebirth, I would probably judge C-section moms. I would think that they simply weren’t strong enough, didn’t read enough, didn’t have the right care provider, etc. But I know that simply isn’t true. Sometimes you need to go through the trauma and brutality of your first C-section to gain the power, strength, and self-confidence and TRUST in your own body to refuse a C-section the second time. And to help other women have the confidence to do the same. It’s my mission to help moms develop this power, strength, self-confidence and trust BEFORE they get sliced open by your scalpel.

And lest you think I’m the only crazy one who feels this way, know that I’m not. It’s just that most women won’t tell you. Most women don’t have the energy left to fight. They don’t want to speak their truth because when they spoke their truth during their pregnancies (or their labors) you told them they didn’t know what was true. Or you told them that they were putting their baby at risk. So, they remain silent.

***************

So let me be their voice and tell you that you HAVE ruined lives. Because, regardless of what you think, it takes less than a bladder infection and post-op infection to ruin a new mom’s life. Sometimes all it takes is a picture-perfect C-section.

Did I Need a Cesarean????

2007-09-04T20:15:00.000-04:00

This week, someone on the ICAN list posted a question about whether their C-section was really necessary. I ask myself that question every day about my C-section. My son was a footling breech... could I have birthed him vaginally at home? Maybe. Could I have birthed him vaginally at a hospital? Maybe. Was a C-section the best way to go? Maybe.

The truth is... I'll never know the truth. But when I look at that question from a different angle, a much deeper and long-lasting answer starts to stir...

Did I need a Cesarean?

Well, maybe I did in fact NEED it, although not for the reasons you might think. Here's my opinion on that question, 18 months after the fact.

I posted this to the ladies of ICAN yesterday...

"I had a c-section, even though I'd planned a homebirth, done prenatal yoga religiously, taken hypnobirthing, tried every breech turning strategy known to woman, read birthing from within, ina may, and about a billion other books, yada yada, etc.

When I look back on my c-section now, I see that there was some other force at work... it had nothing to do with what I knew and didn't know. It had nothing to do with what I wanted and didn't want. It had nothing to do with the position of my baby... or the skill of my midwife. It had nothing to do with my tolerance of pain, or my willingness to relax, or my threshhold for uncertainty during labor.

My c-section is guiding me somewhere... I just don't know where yet. But I do know that if I'd had my homebirth - like I planned - I would have seriously judged other women who had c-sections.. . I would have thought they weren't strong enough, educated enough, relaxed enough, dedicated enough, natural enough, etc. At least, not as strong, educated, relaxed, dedicated, natural as me, Ms. Homebirther!

And , before I had my c-section, I also would have thought (mistakenly, of course!) a C-section was the 'easy way out.'

But now that I've had a c-section... despite all my planning and self-educating and hoping and dreaming, etc.... well, now I just sigh in respect to what I now know and hold in my heart... and in the scar on my belly.

There's depth in that heart and belly scar... depth that wasn't there before the c-section.

There's a humility and a curiosity about other women's choices and feelings that weren't there before the c-section

There's a compassion for women - of all birth plans and birth outcomes - that wasn't there before the c-section.

There's a desire to speak... and write... and help... that was there before, but which has been strengthened since my c-section.

I've also found that the c-section and resulting PTSD and PPD have been a landscape on which I've been able to work on all of those "THINGS" that I've been trying to work on my whole life. Those parts of me that I didn't like, that I wanted to change. My perfectionism, my rebel side, my controlling nature, etc. All of those pieces of me came out around my birth... they were highlighted and magnified by that event... and they have been easier to work on now... because I can work on them in relation to birth. Somehow, it makes them more concrete and accessible. And the work doesn't seem quite so overwhelming now.

That's why I needed my c-section. To bring out and open the parts in me that were hiding... and to give me a way to work on and let go of the parts of me that no longer serve me."

Unproven Pelvis VS. Unproven P*enis

2007-07-26T19:53:00.000-04:00

When I was trying to explain to my in-laws why I was having a homebirth 2 years ago, they came back with all sorts of "counterarguments" about why I was being selfish and putting my baby at risk.

Sigh.

Anyway, tonight while washing dishes, I thought back to a comment my step-father- in-law said one night to me during one of our discussions:

"Well, Christi, my doctor friend said that it's very risky doing a homebirth with a first child, since you have an unproven pelvis."

What the ******? Where does he get off talking about unproven pelvises?? Especially mine?

I felt like saying to him, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this is a valid counterpoint: "Why is it that a woman's pelvis and uterus are guilty until proven innocent (and even if they perform well... they are still assumed to be guilty/broken) ? Why wouldn't my pelvis do exactly what it's been designed to do during birth... even the first time? Especially the first time?"

And then I would go on to say to him:

"I've never heard of anyone telling a teenage boy before he's about to have sex (or masturbate) for the first time... 'Well, you know, son, it's risky having sex or masturbating for the first time... since you have an UNPROVEN P*ENIS.'"

Does anyone doubt the natural, first-time power of a p*enis? Hell no! We just assume the p*enis is going to work... and none of us worry about teenage boys. And if a man's p*enis is curved or shaped a little strangely... do we tell him that he can't have sex, and should be castrated instead? God forbid. Of course not. No one mentions it... they let him do his thing.

So then why in the world does my step-father- in-law get off trying to insult my "unproven pelvis?"

It just kills me, the bizareness of it all.

Ah, the things that start to surface 17+ months postpartum.

I Wish To Tell You (for moms and dads of C-section moms)

2007-06-16T10:41:00.001-04:00

A lot of new moms say that they're sad and disappointed in the way that their family and friends respond to their surgery. They don't feel supported... and oftentimes, they feel ignored and criticized by those who are closest to them.

I think it's really, really difficult for moms, dads, husbands, friends, etc. to know what to say. Heck, even when I have a friend who's had a C-section, it's hard for me to know what to say sometimes, because I know how many emotions are wrapped up in it.

Today, I sat down and wrote a letter that a C-section mom could share with her parents, to help them understand what she needs/needed from them during her recovery. Feel free to share the parts of this letter that resonate with you with your parents, friends, husbands... whoever you need support from. Although I wrote it specifically to moms and dads, parts of it could be appropriate for friends, colleagues, and other people who are close to you.

Warmly,
Christi Collins
www.bostonhealthcoach.com

I wish to tell you…

Dear Mom and Dad…

I wish to tell you… that your baby girl was hurt today. Someone sliced open my belly… the very same belly one you used to rub and pat to help me fall asleep. I now have a big, raw, red wound on my belly and it really hurts. It hurts a lot. Remember the time I got punched in the stomach and all the wind got knocked out of me? Well, it hurts about a gazillion times more than that.

I wish to tell you… physically, it feels like someone has taken an electric can opener and run it back and forth across my pubic bone… and then turned my stomach into a punching bag that they’ve whacked, whacked, repeatedly until I can’t breathe anymore. It would take about 50 more sentences to describe the pain I feel in my body, but you don’t need all those details. You just need to know that your baby girl hurts a lot. I've got a big boo-boo… one that all the Mickey Mouse bandaids in the world can’t heal.

I wish to tell you… how important it is that you acknowledge my pain. When I was little, and I got a boo-boo, you were the first person I ran to. I needed to show you where I got hurt, because you would make it better. Today, I'm not saying you have to kiss the scar that’s on my belly and put a band-aid on it, but it would be nice if you asked me if you could see it (just like you used to look at all of my scrapes). I know you probably won’t want to see it, just like you didn’t like seeing my knees scraped up when I was a little girl… but if you ignore me and pretend that my scar isn’t there, then that makes me feel sad.

I wish to tell you… that when you came to the hospital after my baby was born, it hurt my feelings because you ignored me. You said hello, but then you raced over to my baby and gave him all the attention you used to give me. I know you’re excited to see the baby… I am, too. But when you ignore me, and the pain I’m in, it makes me very angry. When I had my tonsils out in college, you were there for me. You brought books and treats and food and you sat with me (even though my bad breath made the room smell totally disgusting). You took care of me for days. But now, after this surgery, you ignored me. Oh yes, you asked me how I was feeling, but you didn’t stop to listen to my answer. I knew from the way you asked that you didn’t really want to know, anyway, you just wanted to ask so that you could then cuddle the baby. When you wanted to watch the videotape of my son being ripped from my belly, and I started sobbing as I listened to the sounds of the operating room coming from that little video camera… you left the room, but you did so in silence. And when you came back, you never acknowledged the fact that I was so sad. You never asked me about the surgery.

I wish to tell you… that everytime you say, “Why aren’t you happy? It’s a shame that you’re wasting this precious time with your baby by being sad… because it goes by so quickly!” you make me feel like the most selfish, awful mother on earth. You remind me of the fact that I can’t move on, that I’m still consumed by the fact that the day that was supposed to be the best day of my life turned into the worst day of my life. Do you think that I, who carried this child for 10 months in my womb… I, who turned my entire life upside down to bring this child into the world… I, who let my body be CUT INTO… allowed myself to feel raped… allowed myself to put all of my feelings and goals and hopes and health philosophies aside for the “safety of my baby”… that I would WANT to waste this time with my child? I sacrificed everything that was important to me to get him here in my arms… so when you tell me that I should be over it by now, and that I’m wasting precious time with him… you make me feel like the lowest human on the planet.

I wish to tell you… I am already beating myself up a million times a day for being sad, for being angry, for not loving him because of what his “birth” did to me, for being cut, for not knowing enough to avoid it, for not being strong enough to avoid it, for not being able to carry his carseat, for not being able to walk more than a block before my belly hurts, for having to be an invalid in the hospital instead of being a mamma bear at home, for not feeling well enough to even want to celebrate his first birthday, for not being able to create a birth that would be healing and welcoming for him. I don’t need you to beat me up as well. I’m doing that well enough on my own, thank you. Remember when that boy teased me in first grade, and I came home upset and crying and said I never wanted to go back to school? You didn’t tell me that I was “wasting my first grade year” by being sad about this boy. You acknowledged that he was a pain in the butt, and that he probably just had a crush on me. How about acknowledging that my birth was horrific, and that it’s OK for me to be sad?

I wish to tell you… when you say, “I wish you hadn’t become so sensitive over the past few years, because then this C-section wouldn’t have bothered you so much” that you are really saying, “I wish I didn’t have to deal with the fact that you are in pain.” What lies underneath your words, if you look at them closely, are the following implications: “I wish you didn’t hold your body in high regard. I wish you would just numb yourself to the act of giving birth, and forget that it’s the most important moment of your life. I wish you didn’t plan, hope, and dream for this child’s birth in the loving way that you did. I wish you hadn’t grown to love your body, and not want to see it sliced into. I wish you would just make this easier on all of us, because we don't know how to deal with your pain.”

I wish to tell you… even if I hadn’t become so sensitive, this C-section could very well have still rocked my world, and not in a good way. You brought three children in to the world, and you know how much birth changes everything. How can you say to me that all of my anger and sadness and frustration and grief and regret stems from sensitivity? Again, when you say that, I have yet another thing (that being sensitivity) to add to my list of “what makes me broken as a mom and a woman.”

I wish to tell you… when I was a teenager, and I didn’t get a part in the school musical, and I came home and cried about it, you didn’t tell me to stop being sensitive. You told me that I was good enough, and I tried hard, and that it wasn’t my fault, that the director was stupid, and that you were sad for me. So, why is it OK to be sensitive as a not-so-good aspiring actress in high school… but not OK to be sensitive as a woman who has just experienced the most traumatic event of her life?

I wish to tell you… when I was in college, and I called home one night and sounded sad and a bit hurt about the way a boy treated me, you quickly asked, “Did he hurt you?” And I could honestly say no. I remember that you were so quick to want to know if that boy had hurt me… you were so quick to want to know if you needed to protect me. So, it’s hard for me to understand why you are having such a hard time acknowledging that a doctor hurt me. That a doctor made me feel as though I was raped. That a doctor made me feel small. That a doctor made me feel “pushy” for daring to question the medical procedures that have been established for the comfort of doctors and hospital policies, not for the comfort of my body and my baby’s health. That a doctor made me question all of my wisdom, intuition, education, reading, and carefully-thought-out decisions that I’d made for the birth of my child… all because they didn’t line up with the protocols that she’s forced to follow. Why didn’t you want to protect me from all of the abuse that I suffered – both physical and emotional – in the hospital? That abuse was MUCH more real – and damaging – than any college boyfriend turbulence. Yet, you remained silent. You never asked, “Did she (your doctor) hurt you?” You probably didn’t want to hear me say “yes.” But that didn’t stop you from asking when I was in college. What’s different now?

I wish to tell you… when you say, “But isn’t a C-section the safest way to have a baby?” you show me that the media has done too good a job of making a major abdominal surgery seem “normal.” And it helps me understand why you didn’t know that I was hurting so badly.

I wish to tell you… when you encouraged me to get the C-section, rather than trusting and honoring that my own body could birth my baby in the normal, age-old way that women have been birthing babies for centuries and centuries… you were unknowingly setting me up for many potential problems down the line. You see…

I wish to tell you…

They don’t tell you that C-sections cause miscarriages and stillborn births in the future.
They don't tell you that a mom who has a C-section has a much greater chance of having a hysterectomy because of her "birth."
They don’t tell you that I was three times more likely to die during the operation than I was if I’d had a normal birth.
They don't tell you that many moms feel much of the pain during surgery because the anesthesia doesn't work completely... I didn't feel the exact pain in this way, but the pulling and shoving and tugging and pushing was enough to make me feel like I was in a boxing match.
They don’t tell you that your darling grandson had a 4-6% chance of being cut by a knife during an operation.
They don’t tell you that the reason he had such a hard time breathing at first was NOT because he was breech, but because they ripped him out of my womb before he was ready.
They don’t tell you that the C-section can cause all sorts of health problems for him in the future.
Oh, and remember all the trouble we had with breastfeeding at first? Yup, that’s from the C-section, too.
They don't tell you that the doctors care more about getting the C-section over with "before the 7:00 shift takes over" than they do respecting my wishes to go through labor. It's my right as a woman to go through labor if I wish, yet they pressured me so much that I denied myself that right.
They don’t tell you that the C-section can cause flashbacks, panic attacks, major depression, post traumatic stress disorder, blows to marriages, isolation and withdrawal from society and friends and family... the very same kinds of symptoms that I’ve been suffering from for since your grandchild was born.
They don’t tell you that a C-section can be so disempowering that it took me TWO MONTHS before I would feel confident enough in my mothering abilities to pull a shirt over your grandson’s head, and give him a bath. It took me more than THREE MONTHS before I felt like “enough of a mother” to take him to the grocery store. I was so afraid of him, and so unsure of myself because of the C-section, that a friend had to come with me to the mall the first time.
They don’t tell you that C-sections often create a void between mothers and babies – bonding can take a long time – it sure did for us (it took almost a year for me).
They don’t tell you that a C-section feels like a rape to many women (it did to me) and can make a woman scared to be touched by anyone, even her husband.
They don’t tell you that many women who have C-sections wait months or years before they’re ready to have sex again, because they feel so violated.
They don’t tell you that your daughter’s scar will itch for months and even years to come.
They don’t tell you that your daughter may hate her belly and not want to look at herself in the mirror naked again.
They don’t tell you that your daughter will have a high chance of getting an infection and having to stay in the hospital (or go back) after your grandchild was born. Thank god that didn't happen to me.
They don’t tell you that for every pregnancy she has, she’ll be considered high risk.
They don't tell you that they can damage your daughter's bladder and other organs during surgery.
They don’t tell you that she may have a really, really hard time finding anyone to deliver your next grandchild, unless she wants to have a C-section again.
They don’t tell you that a C-section can be so violating, disempowering, painful and scary that it might be enough to keep your daughter from wanting to have any more children.

So, please don’t ask me when your next grandchild is coming. I’m simply not there yet.

***************

I wish to tell you… the number one best thing that you can/could say to me is:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. I know this is the last thing you wanted, and I’m so sorry. Would you like to tell me about it?”

I wish to tell you… you will probably need to say those sentences to me over and over and over again. This is not a one-time conversation. This pain will not go away in one day. Giving my baby a bath, watching him smile, touching his chunky thighs may make YOU forget how he was brought into the world… but it will take me months, maybe years, maybe a lifetime to forget what happened on the day they wrenched him from my belly. You can never say “I’m sorry” or ask “Would you like to talk about it?” too many times. There will always be something to say. You don't have to have a solution, or know the answer, or have something comforting to say. Just keep asking me questions, and let me talk. Let me cry. Let me get mad (I might get mad at you... that's OK... it's just part of the process, and I need to let it happen).

***************

And now… with love in my heart… because I know that, no matter what has happened in the past, you love me with all of your being…

I wish to tell you… I know that you did your very best at the time to support me.

I wish to tell you… I know it’s hard to understand what I’ve been through… because you’re not me, and you didn’t go through what I went through.

I wish to tell you… I know that you didn’t want to see your little girl in pain, and it may have been easier to ignore it (even unintentionally) than to face it head-on.

I wish to tell you… I know that you probably had no idea how much I was hurting – physically – or on the inside. Because I probably did a good job of hiding it. Because new moms aren't supposed to be upset or angry or sad... it's supposed to be the best day of their lives, right?

I wish to tell you… I’m still hurting. I still feel the pain of what happened to me. I think about it every single day… many times a day. Having an adorable baby doesn’t diminish the pain. Having another baby won’t make that pain disappear either (even if the birth turns out exactly as I’d hoped the last one would). The pain will be here forever (just like that scar that I got on my forehead when you accidentally tripped me with the stroller).

I wish to tell you all of these things because I still need your support now.

I wish to tell you all of these things because you know other moms and dads whose daughters will go through or have gone through this same thing, and I would really, really, really like it if you could share this letter with them. Because it may just help them understand what their daughters are going through. And it may help them know what to say and what not to say.

The last thing I wish to tell you… is that my birth was considered a “routine” and “normal” C-section by the medical community. I didn’t get infected. I left the hospital a day early. My scar has pretty much healed. I didn’t have a hysterectomy. My son didn’t get cut during the surgery. I got to keep my son in the operating room with me while I was sewn up. I was awake throughout the entire surgery, I didn’t get put under completely with general anesthesia. I got to take the catheter out the next morning. I got to listen to my ipod during surgery (yeah, like that helped distract me). I got to keep my placenta. I got to start jogging again 2 months after surgery.

For all intents and purposes (from the medical point of view, at least) my C-section was a “SUCCESS.” A TEXTBOOK recovery.

* So with all of the pain and suffering that my C-section caused me… with the emotional aftermath and the physical repercussions that I and my husband have witnessed (because these repercussions aren’t apparent to other people)… you can only imagine what a C-section is like for a mom who has complications in the hospital, or whose body or baby suffers permanently from surgery damage or a doctors’ mistakes. With these moms, even more care, love, support, and listening is needed.

Because this is not the way birth is supposed to be. It makes sense that moms and dads don’t know what to do, what to say, how to act, how to react… to support their daughters who end up being cut. Because it’s not normal, it’s not natural, it’s not joyful, and it’s not empowering. Not at all.

The Real Birth Story

2007-05-16T07:42:00.000-04:00

In February I posted the story of my birth compared to a rape. I realized I needed to write the real version, so that the facts were clear.

I've decided to include the real birth story here as well...

Written the week of February 5, 2007

By Christi Collins

Mom to Evan Wyatt Collins, born February 15, 2006

All of Christi’s contact info can be found at:

www.bostonhealthcoach.com

THE BIRTH

I wanted my first birth to be natural, and loving, and wonderful. I wanted to be treated with respect, and claim my entrance into the world of motherhood with confidence and empowerment. I wanted my first birth experience to mark the amazing transition from “womanhood” to “motherhood” in a way she’ll always look back on with fondness and a smile.

I thought about it for a long time, I listened to music that got me in a relaxed, open kind of mood. I visualized it, talked about it in positive terms, surrounded myself with amazing images and books. I did prenatal yoga three times a week to help my body get ready. I took Hypnobirthing classes. I hired a homebirth midwife team who supported my natural birth. I ate well, slept a lot, went to La Leche meetings, and worked halftime on my holistic health counseling business.

I read lots of stories about first time birth that were positive and uplifting, first time birth that bought men and women closer together and made a woman feel like a mother for the first time. I read of first time birth that made a woman feel like she can conquer the world, made her face flushed with excitement and victory, made her want to tell the story over and over again to anyone who will listen.

I was delighted because my husband and I were getting ready for the big day together. He was so supportive of me, talking it through, planning, dreaming and preparing.

We hoped our first birth will be amazing. We were planning to bring our baby into the world at home, where he will be safe, warm, and calm. Where I would feel at ease, and be able to let my body open up in a way that will let my son know it’s OK to come out, to enter the world.

I couldn’t wait to become a mother in this way.

That was the plan, at least.

Silly me, to think I could have a plan.

----------------------------------

The plan didn’t end up happening.

What ended up happening was completely opposite what we’d hoped and planned.

I was told that I couldn’t have my homebirth.

I couldn’t have my natural birth.

I couldn’t have an empowering, calm birth.

----------------------------------

Instead, I would have to have a C-section.

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It turns out, my uterus is shaped strangely, like a heart – they call it a “bicornuate uterus” and they think that perhaps there is a wall down the middle – called a “septate.” Maybe because of the shape of the uterus (or maybe not), my baby was breech. This means the baby’s head is up, instead of down. His feet were the first things that would come out. This is the toughest kind of breech… at least if the butt is coming first (a frank breech) some practitioners will attempt a vaginal birth.

There would be lots of other people involved in my birth, people I didn’t know… people I didn’t want to talk to, much less have part of my first birth experience. Instead of the calm, loving environment my husband and I were creating, we would be in a cold, bright, loud surgery room… and instead of my body creating the pain that would help the baby move out and down… the doctor would create the pain for me.

I wasn’t allowed a choice in this matter – the C-section would happen to me, no matter what. This is what the doctors said, at least. This is what my midwife said. I had hired her because she had delivered breeches in the past… but she dumped me when she found out my son was breech. She turned me into the doctors, the ones who gave me no other option than a C-section. My midwife completely betrayed my trust, she demanded full payment from us, even though she didn’t attend my birth. I cannot talk to her or think of her to this day. I live 10 minutes from her house, and I have to drive by it regularly, and each time I see it and think of her, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. She knew my son was breech for weeks, at least she had a strong indication (as did I) but she didn’t tell me until it was too late, until I’d given her payment for the full birth.

I tried to fight the midwife and the doctors – saying that this is NOT how it’s supposed to be, that I can still have a healthy vaginal birth with a breech baby. But they insisted this wasn’t possible. And my doctor told me that if I tried to give birth at home, then I was a bad mother. That, “After all, you entered into this with a healthy baby as the goal.”

Well, yes, I wanted a healthy baby. I wasn’t trying to compromise his health by having a vaginal birth. But no one could give me specific statistics and reasons why a C-section was safer than a vaginal birth. It just seemed to be what the doctors seemed more comfortable with. It was what my husband was more comfortable with… my mother-in-law, my mom, my friends... pretty much everyone involved.

Of course they were more comfortable with it. They weren't the ones who would have to go through the C-section. It seemed like the easy way out to them.

I determinedly tried everything I could to help my son turn into the head-down position. I drove an hour west to a chiropractor who had good success turning babies using the Webster technique. I drove another hour west to a hypnosis instructor who used hypnosis to try and turn Evan.

I drove into Cambridge to get acupuncture treatments, and have moxabustion burned on my toes to turn him. My husband sat outside in the freezing cold with me, trying to do moxabustion at home (that was amusing and sad and smelly all at the same time). We put frozen veggie packs on the top of my uterus and hot packs on the bottom, to try and convince him to turn. My husband spoke to my son through a paper towel tube, trying to encourage him to move. We played music and shone bright lights towards the lower part of my belly, enticing him lower. I laid on a slanted ironing board for hours, trying to get him to move… anything… please, baby, turn!

I thought about heading to The Farm in TN to ask Ina May to deliver my son. I thought about flying a midwife in from UT to deliver him. But neither of those options seemed right at the time. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t pursue them further this time around (but I'm not ruling them out for next time). I wish I’d taken the time and energy to pursue other midwives in the area (or not in the area) who have experience delivering breeches.

Looking back, I see how exhausted I must have been at that point, to not even research other midwives… to give in to the C-section without doing that last bit of research. I can see how tired I was of trying to fight against the medical mainstream to have a healthy birth. I figured, if I go ahead with a homebirth with a breech baby, and something goes wrong, I will have to answer to the family member, friends, and practitioners who just wanted me to have the C-section instead. I wasn’t strong enough at that point to think about being a lone warrior in that way. I was simply too tired. Too tired of fighting... too tired of trying to convince people that I wasn't trying to harm my baby by doing things naturally.

After a few weeks of trying to get my son to turn, I was tired. I was tired of fighting midwives and doctors, I was tired of being betrayed by family members and care providers, I was tired of spending money and time and hope trying to convince my baby to turn. I was so, so tired.

The doctors told me if I didn’t have the C-section, that my son would be in danger, and may die. At least that’s what they told me. I still couldn’t get them to tell me any statistics that make me trust that the C-section is the better way, but I gave in to them, because I felt like had no other choice.

Most doctors in this country won’t deliver a breech baby… even if they wanted to, they don’t know how. This knowledge has been lost through the years, and no one learns how to deliver breech babies in this way in medical school anymore. So, most women with breech babies are told they must have a C-section. There is no data proving without a doubt that a C-section is safer than a vaginal breech birth (in fact I've since found that there are other studies suggesting otherwise), but the doctors still think C-sections to be true (as they do for pretty much any kind of birth these days). So, it doesn’t really matter what the woman thinks or believes. It doesn’t matter if she has confidence in her body and her baby to know what to do. The doctors don’t, and so she has no choice.

Sure, I could have delivered at home, unassisted, but that just wasn’t an option in my head at the time.

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Upon hearing that I would have to have a C-section, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it, I started sobbing inconsolably. I didn’t stop for weeks. I cried all the time for weeks and weeks. I couldn’t sleep. At night, I was terrified. I had nightmares about the impending C-section. I dreamed that I watched myself die on the operating table. I looked down at my belly, my untouched, unstretchmarked, unblemished belly and felt the impending incision like a rape. I felt like the world had been ripped out from under me. I didn’t want to go to yoga, which had been a safe haven for me three times a week for 40 weeks… because I felt like a failure. Seeing all the healthy moms who would have vaginal births made me angry and jealous. I didn’t even want to go outside or answer the phone or email because I didn’t want anyone to ask me about my birth. I was so ashamed and angry over what I would have to tell them.

I read, researched, asked around… God, is there anyone who can help me avoid this C-section? I couldn’t find anyone who could give me another option, a way out.

Frantically, I tried to find anyone who could help me. I felt like there must be another way.

But the doctors don’t budge. They told me this is the only way. C-section is the only way, the best way, the safest way. The only way for me.

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I felt like my heart was going to break in two. Why is this happening to me? Why me? I never expected this. I’d never even read the information on C-sections, because I never thought it would happen to me. I judged other women for having C-sections, thinking they weren’t strong enough, educated enough, didn’t advocate enough for themselves. I’d watch birth shows on TV and yell at the screen, telling the woman how she could avoid the C-section that was bearing down on her quicker than anything.

Hell, I’d even told other women how to avoid a C-section. I’d tried to share what I’d learned during her planning and preparation, to help friends and former clients avoid this horrendous experience. All the women I talked to had been able to avoid it… partly thanks to the advice and information I shared with them.

Now, ironically, I would have to go through the C-section myself. And somehow, knowing what I knew about birth (and how wonderful it can be for) - and C-sections, too - makes it even harder. Once I found out I’d have to have a C-section, I wished I didn’t know anything at all about birth. I wished I’d never even planned a natural experience, because it hurt more to have that ripped away from me. I wished I’d gone into it blindly, knowing nothing, having read nothing, having hoped for nothing.

Other people told me not to plan, not to hope, to dream… but why wouldn’t I do those things? This was such an important experience. The first time a mother gives birth… well, that is life-changing. Why wouldn’t I immerse myself – my heart and soul - in the preparation for such an experience? My first time deserved everything I could muster.

I’d never get my first birth back again.

It would mold my very existence and my mother spirit, forever.

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When they found out I would have a C-section for my son’s birth, other women didn't help me out at all. Women who haven’t been through the C-section don’t understand how awful it’s going to be. Many of them think I’m getting the easy way out… after all, I won’t have to do anything, I’ll just “get to lie there.” Or “Well, you’ll get to schedule it now, right?” Or “At least you won’t have to go through labor.”

Don’t they know that I WANTED to go through labor, I wanted it to start on its own, completely unscheduled and unpredicted? I wanted to work, to push, to groan, to sway, to cringe, to yell… I wanted to give birth.

They said things that don’t help, like “Many women go through C-sections for breeches, so it must be OK. It’s totally normal. It may hurt for a little bit afterwards, but at least it will be quick.”

These women obviously have never had a C-section, or they’ve read all of those totally bogous “What to Expect” websites or books… which talk about C-sections like it’s an eye brow wax. It does not hurt a “little” – it hurts a lot. And I knew I was trading 3-4 days of labor for 4-6+ weeks of intense discomfort and painful recovery.

The women who had been through the C-section before didn’t help me, either. They said things like, “No, it’s not fair, but the pain will fade with time. It’s really for the best. Mine wasn’t that bad… at least (insert their own opinion). And at least you’ll get your baby.”

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Oh, yes, the Baby. That was my reward and justification for being C-sectioned. Sometimes, in the midst of all of my pain and fear and anger and bitterness, I forgot about the baby. When I did remember, sometimes I would hate the baby for putting me through all of this. Then I’d feel guilty for hating the baby, which would then make me feel even sadder.

Would the Baby make the C-section worthwhile? I wasn’t sure, but I desperately hoped the Baby would make everything all better. The Baby was the only good thing that would come out of her birth now.

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There were also women who gave me false hope. They told me things like, “Oh yeah, well I was going to have to get C-sectioned too for my first time, but my baby turned at the last minute.” My older relatives told stories of birthing breech babies with no problems.

Neither of these things helped – they just made me madder, and sadder for myself. Because I knew, in my mother’s gut, that my son would not turn. He was going to stay breech. And I knew that my doctors would not let me push him out.

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My friends who were C-sectioned before all had opinions about how I could come to terms with the experience. “Maybe you can listen to music while you’re being C-sectioned, because that will help you relax.”

Or “Maybe you could ask them not to hold you down while the doctors are pulling the baby out… maybe you could have your hands free. That will make you feel empowered, right?”

Or “Maybe you could tell them exactly when you’d like to be C-sectioned – you can simply say that you’d like it to happen next Wednesday – at least it could be convenient that way because you could schedule it in. And then your family could fly in from CA to be there afterwards.”

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None of those options made it any better… I was still so unhappy and depressed. I cried myself to sleep every night… and most days, too. I couldn’t think or feel anything else, except the horrific dread of what was to come, and the fact that I was powerless to stop it.

Slowly, my reality set in. I realized I had no choice. I would be C-sectioned. That’s what I had to do, right? Everyone had made me feel guilty about wanting to find an alternative and the guilt was enough to keep me from exploring other options. I felt strong enough to birth my baby at home vaginally, but if anything happened to him, my family would hate me forever.

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So, once I realize I had no choice but to ‘choose’ to be C-sectioned, I took all of the sweet emotion and anticipation and research and hoping and wishing that was meant for my homebirth, and I turned it towards the impending C-section. I read about C-sections, trying to learn what I would experience. At least I would be educated. I read about C-sections, with tears streaming down my face. It sounded awful. Could I really do this? Note to self, Christi: YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.

There are lots of dangers to C-section. People don’t talk much about the dangers of C-section. C-section is the act of birth, yes, but it’s not the birth I was hoping to have. C-section is birth that comes with a price. It comes with a lot of risks. There would be a lot of dangers to my physical body… there were repercussions that might last for my entire life. I would have swelling, bruising, scars that would hurt for a long time. I might bleed a lot afterwards, I would need to stay in the hospital afterwards for a few days. I hate the hospital… with a vengeance. I feel sick when I step inside the doors of the hospital.

After the C-section, I could have problems if I ever want to give birth or get pregnant again. Unless I can find a doctor or midwife who will let me birth vaginally (it’s tough to find these kind of doctors these days) I may have to be C-sectioned the next time around. . What an awful thought. That this first time might set the precedent for all my other birth experiences.

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When I looked down at my pelvis each night, I was so sad about what I was about to lose. I’d never had someone push into me in this way, violate my body in this way. I would never choose this for myself, never in a million, trillion years. I’d rather die.

When I listened to other women talk about their birth experiences, they seem to be so proud of it. They liked talking about it, sharing all the details. Some even had a good time during their first birth.

I was so angry, pissed off, bitter about why I had to be C-sectioned. Most of these other women admit they didn’t even prepare for their first birth, they didn’t read about it, they didn’t put effort and planning and anticipation into it. Most of them were half-drugged during their first birth experience. But it seemed to work OK for them. Why couldn’t they have a C-section, if they were just going to be drugged anyway? If they didn’t care how it was going to go down anyway?

I tried to come to grips with what is going to happen. I tried to plan as peaceful a C-section as I could. I asked my doctor if she could give me a few concessions that will make the C-section at least a bit more tolerable.

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“Doctor, would perhaps be possible to wait to cut the cord until it stops pulsing?”

NO.

“Doctor, can you put my baby on my chest afterwards?”

NO.

“OK, well, if you won’t do those things, will you at least let my husband be in the room when you put the needle in my spine so I won’t be as scared?”

NO.

“Sorry, we don’t do things that way,” the doctor says, and I decided to stop asking for concessions because I didn’t want to piss the doctor off. After all, this was the doctor who would do my C-section, and I didn’t want to make her angry. My life was in this doctor’s hands, and she could do whatever she wants to me once the surgery started. I would be powerless.

In the end, all the doctor agreed to let me do is listen to music on my iPod, and have my husband in the room with me during the C-section (but he can only come in after they’ve already started). None of my other requests are met. My birth is getting about as far away from homebirth as it can possibly get.

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I tried to hold off the C-section as long as possible. My doctor kept wanting to schedule it (easier for her, I presume). But each time she tried to schedule it, I told her that I wanted to wait. I wanted my body to go into labor on its own. I wanted my son to pick his own birthday. I wanted to feel what labor felt like, as much as possible.

One day, February 15, my son decided it was time. I had an appointment that day, and for some reason, I asked for a vaginal exam. Why, I have no idea. I’d never wanted an exam before. I guess I must have known something was happening. The doctor said, “You’re at a 3 and 80% effaced. Let’s schedule this thing.”

Well, I didn’t feel like I was in labor, so I told her I wanted to go home. I had yoga that night, after all, and was looking forward to it. Well, she told me that if my water broke, I was putting my baby in danger because the cord could prolapse. Amazing all the scare tactics the doctors use to frighten you. I told her I understood the protocol, but that I was going home.

I called the hospital later and they told me I was scheduled for a C-section on Friday morning. The date was Wednesday, February 15. At that point, I just wanted to get the C-section over with.

I realized a bit later that morning that I was having contractions, but I’d gotten so good at my hypnobirthing breathing that I’d simply been breathing through them. I spoke with my mom and told her what was going on, and she told me she was very nervous that I wasn’t at the hospital. She wanted me to have the C-section. She was afraid for what might happen if my water broke. She told me my voice sounded tight, like I was in labor. She wanted me to schedule the C-section, and not wait it out.

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Next time (if there is a next time), I’m not sharing my pregnancy or birth with anyone but me. Too many people have fears and nerves that can be absorbed. A pregnant woman doesn’t need to add anyone else’s fears to her body or soul. She has enough of her own.

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After hanging up with my mom, I realized that the contractions were a bit longer, and I was having a lot of trouble concentrating. I’d been packing my hospital bag for hours and still wasn’t finished. Perhaps I was in labor? It didn’t hurt at all, but there was definitely something happening.

My husband was going into Boston for a meeting that night after work, and I was worried that if my water did break, or if labor really got going quickly, and they did the C-section fast and I was put under general anesthesia, that he would miss it. So I decided to go back to the doctor before the close of the office, to check one more time and see if I was really in labor. I didn’t feel like I was, but she told me I was a 4 and 100% effaced. She looked at me and said, “This time, you’re not leaving.”

Well, looking back, I have to wonder. Was I really that far along? Or did she just tell me that to keep me in the hospital? I’ll never know.

I think the doctor thought I would try to make a break for it, because when I told her that I wanted to go get my hospital bag, she followed me outside the hospital and watched me walk to my car. She made me get off the phone with my husband, when I called him to tell him what was going on… oh, excuse ME, doctor, for wanting to call the co-creator of my son to tell him that you’re forcing me into a C-section in the next few hours.

She’d pre-registered me at the hospital herself… and she took my bag (wouldn’t let me carry it, even though I’m strong, and was having no problem with it). She wouldn’t let me take the stairs. Excuse me, doctor, I’m a pregnant woman in labor, not an invalid. She took me to the labor room and told me to get in a gown. At this point, I tried to create some semblance of a peaceful environment for me and my son. I put my ipod on with my hypnobirthing and looked out over the river at the sunset. Contractions were still coming, but they didn’t hurt… at least, not until they made me lie on the bed to monitor his heartrate.

They started doing things right away, even though I asked them to wait for my husband. At that point, my doctor came in and told me (like she was sharing high school gossip), “You know, it will be really better for all involved if we can get this finished before the 7:00 shift change.”

Oh, MY GOD. I’m SO sorry, doctor. Is my labor and delivery, the biggest experience of my life, and my son’s life… INCONVENIENCING you and your staff? Do you want to get home for dinner? Oh, I’m so sorry… let me speed up this awful surgery, speed up this terrible event that I’ve been dreading for weeks… just to make life easier for the hospital staff.

Looking back, I realize that I must have been in labor, because I stopped advocating for myself. Why didn’t I remind the doctor that I wanted to be in labor as long as possible… right up until transition, so that I could feel labor? Why didn’t I remind her of that? Why did I let her coerce me into going along with the hospital’s assembly line C-section schedule? Perhaps because deep down, I knew that they would just keep coming in every few minutes, asking me if they could get started… and that’s no way to be in labor. It’s one of the reasons I’d planned a homebirth.

I gave in. I let them get started. I got the IV in (which I was terrified about, since I hate needles). My hand hurts right now as I type this, feeling the feeling of having a needle in my skin, an invader that’s hurting me.

They want to wheel me into the surgery room and start my spinal, but my husband and doula haven’t arrived yet, so I told them no. Finally, Ben arrives. He looks out of place to me, he doesn’t know what to do. He is sitting on a chair far away from me, and I’m on the bed wearing the damn heartrate monitor, which I hate… and which is now making the contractions hurt. Why won’t they let me stand up? I’m now officially a hospital victim, no longer a laboring mother.

I ask Ben to move his chair closer. Why isn’t he rubbing my hand or stroking my hair? The distance between us has already begun. Looking back, I know he didn’t’ know what to say. Perhaps I was putting up a good front, but how could he not know that I was terrified, saddened to the core, and so mad? That inside I was trying to run away, even though I was strapped down? Couldn’t he see that I needed him to advocate for me to the doctor, to be right there by me, to tell me how wonderful I was, to tell me how beautiful I was, to tell me that I was such a brave mom, to be doing such a hard thing for my baby. That he was so proud of me? Why didn’t he ask me if I wanted or needed anything?

No, he said none of those things. I felt like a failure, and got no indication from him otherwise.

The nurse came in to tell me that they couldn’t wait any longer, they had to start.

That was the moment I disappeared. As soon as they started bringing me into the surgery room (I can’t remember if I walked, or if they wheeled me in… that’s how quickly I disappeared). At this point, I just wanted it to be over, so I could start trying to heal and rebuild myself.

Laying on the table in the surgery room, I notice how it was cold and bright. What I hated most were the sounds, the beeps and the suctions and the hustle and bustle of people doing all sorts of things while I’m laying there. No one acknowledges me. No one says to me, “Hi pretty momma, this is the most important day of your life. I know you didn't want to have a C-section, and I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to support you? Can we do anything to make this easier for you?”

Four sentences. So easy to say. But they would have made a world of difference to me and changed the atmosphere completely.

I was powerless. I was invisible. I ceased to be a mother-to-be, and I became a body that had ‘insert knife here!’ written on it. There was nothing warm and cozy about this room. I shriveled up inside… there was no excitement or eager anticipation. Only sadness and fear. The only butterflies were in my belly, and they were not from pleasure. They were from intense, insane fear and sadness.

They made me turn over on my side while they put the spinal in. I was terrified of this (did I mention I hate needles) and so they let me lay down, thankfully. That’s good, otherwise I would have passed out and missed my son’s birth completely. My doctor held me down, thinking she was providing comfort. What she didn’t know what that her beeper was sticking into my knee, causing intense pain. I was trying to lay still as the needle went into my back, but I couldn’t because the beeper hurt too much. She told me, “You have to lay still.” I said softly, “Well, if you move your beeper I can do that. It's hurting me.”

Why do I lose strength around doctors… and not speak up for myself?

The spinal was in, and I start losing all feeling in my lower body. That wasn’t bad, in fact, the spinal was probably the part of the whole experience that was not as bad as I expected it to be. They started putting the catheter in, and I was glad I didn’t know what was happening.

They put up a sheet in front of me because I am not ‘sterile.’ My body was good enough for the baby to be in for 40 weeks, but now it’s ‘dirty’ and they need to be protected from it. Now I couldn’t see what they were doing.

What was going on?

I just felt awful, I was trying to disappear into my hypnobirthing on my iPod… but I felt like I would pass out, so I had to ask for oxygen. They put the mask on me, which helped, but then I felt like a total patient, and sick. I don’t remember if I asked them to remove it or not, everything gets very hazy from this point. I worked so hard to disappear and not be there that I have very little recollection of the actual surgery.

I do remember the terrible sounds, the suctioning, the clanging of the instruments, the doctors talking, nurses moving around.

I was ignored. My body was there, but I was not there. I was trying to disappear, to go anywhere other than there, in that room.

More doctors and nurses came in, there were so many people in the room. Too many people. I was surrounded by people, yet I felt so alone.

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“THIS IS NOT HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE!”

I screamed inside.

But it’s too late. They were going to start to cut into me soon. There was nothing I could do, but try to disappear and hope it would soon be over.

They shaved me, even though I asked them not to, because they said, “We have to make it sterile.”

What was so wrong with my body?

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The door opened and my husband came in. I was glad to see him, but so sad. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I didn’t want him to see me with my legs spread apart. I didn’t want him to see that they’ve already started cutting me open.

I didn’t want him to see me with a shower cap over my head, with my arms outstretched, with needles in my arm, with doctors gathered around me, ready to cut through more of my body. I was embarrassed for him to see me this way.

I was also mad, because I wanted him to rescue me, but I knew he couldn’t. He, too, was powerless. Still, I wanted him to try. I wanted him to say, “Let’s go home. Let me take you out of here. I’ll protect you. We’ll birth our son together. C’mon, let’s go. You don’t deserve this. I don’t want this to happen to you. I will help you be strong, and fight this. I know you can do this. Your body can do this. Let me help you. We'll do this together, the way we planned.”

But he didn’t say those things to me. And I was mad at him because I really needed to hear those things, even if we couldn't go anywhere.

He sat by my side, close in physical distance… but it felt to me like he was miles away emotionally.

Looking back, I know that he didn’t know what to say. I’m sure his heart was breaking inside for me, but his desire to see his son overrode his fears or concern about me. To him, I imagine this was the easy way out. Mom, baby, together in one room within 30 minutes. No labor to worry about… it was all in the doctors’ hands. A lot simpler for him, right?

I know this wasn’t the way he wanted it to turn out either. He’d wanted our son’s birth to be precious, loving, amazing, and totally peaceful. He wanted to rub my back, breathe with me during contractions, and snuggle with me in our bed.

Instead he sat there next to me, not able to do anything. I knew that he was excited to see our son, and I knew that he would never, ever know what the C-section felt like for me. He could sit there and watch and be in the same room, but he had no idea what I was going through. I tried my best to disappear. I tried not to be mad at him, but I couldn’t help it.

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They told me they’d started. One by one, they ripped through the layers of my body. Skin, muscles, abdomen, uterus. One by one by one. I think at one point they told me what they’re doing, but I didn’t want to hear. I was trying to listen to my music, trying to pretend my innocence wasn’t been ripped apart every time they pulled, pushed, shoved inside me.

The medicine is working, but not enough to keep me from feel what they are doing. It hurts. It really hurts. I was being violated. I was being raped. I was being raped. I was being raped.

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I was raped.

My son was pulled out of me.

He was born.

But I didn’t birth him.

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It was over, but not as quick as I’d imagined/hoped it would be. It seemed to last a lifetime. The doctor told her that they had a hard time pulling my baby out towards the end, so they had to cut my stomach muscles. But those pieces would heal – it would just take a little bit longer.

Great, thanks, doctor. My stomach muscles… yeah, I don’t need those for anything.

To celebrate my entry into motherhood, they give me my son.

Well, they didn’t really give me my son. They took him over to a table to help him breathe. Gee, what do you think would happen if you wrenched a baby out of my womb? Think he’s going to have breathing problems? I could’ve told you that. They had him on that table for a while, doing things to him.

I wasn’t with it enough to take my son. I was still laying down, strapped down, spread-eagled. I wouldn’t be able to hold the baby I’d carried for 40 weeks in my arms. There's a picture of me in the surgery room, my hand outstretched as far as it can go... but I still can't reach my son, no matter how hard I try.

So they wrapped him up and gave my baby to my husband. He was happy to hold him, looked at him in awe. So, this is what our baby looks like.

Everyone in the room is happy, but I am not. I felt like I should be happy. After all, my husband was holding our son. Everyone was telling me how cute he was. I remember all the moms on the TV shows who were so overjoyed when their babies came out, but I didn’t feel that way.

I didn’t like the fact that my husband was holding my son. I wanted to be glad for him, but I was mad. I should be holding my baby.

“But I should be holding my Baby,” I raged inside. Why, after all of this pain, can’t I at least hold my Baby?”

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In some weird way, I felt like I should thank the doctor who C-sectioned me. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hated her too much. I know she tried to be gentle (perhaps?), but in reality, the doctor doesn’t care about me. This is just business to her. She will just move on and C-section another mother a little bit later.

There are so many women to be C-sectioned these days – it seems to be quite the trend. I’ve heard of doctors scheduling C-sections around vacations. I know my doctor moved me along that night because she wanted to get home to her family. I’ve heard that doctors talk about mundane things like sports and music while they cut mothers open. I’ve heard about the “assembly line” of moms that are cut open without any thought given to what they’re losing with that kind of birth. Doctors seem to forget that there is a precious human being there, under their knives… with a precious baby inside her… and they’re violating what is supposed to be a precious moment of transformation and growth for both of them.

I imagine, based on what I’ve heard other doctors say, that her doctor may even talk about her C-section over dinner. “Oh, yeah? Well, I sectioned this mother today who thought her first time was going to be sweet and loving. A homebirth, can you believe that? Yeah, she probably read Ina May's book and thought she'd have a nice homebirth. That way of birth is going out the window. C-section will soon be the only way.”

I lost an important piece of myself that day. One I will never, ever, ever get back again. Even if I have a normal, vaginal birth the next time. If there even is a next time.

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I was wheeled out of the surgery room, into another bright, colorless, friendless room. Finally, there, I was given my son to hold. But I was too weak to hold him. I tried to stroke him and touch him, but he was too heavy, and my body was too weak. I has to give him away. I tried to nurse him, but I couldn’t sit up because I couldn’t feel my body… so he didn’t nurse at all. He flopped around, and my doula tried to hold him sideways on my breasts while the nurses ‘cleaned’ me up. That didn’t go well.

I hated my body. It betrayed me. It hurt. Everything hurt.

My belly was flat – it’s amazing how quickly it deflated into a pile of jelly. Where the round belly was just moments before… was flat. I was disgusted by my body. I knew that underneath the sheets, I’d find an ugly, red, raised scar. That wasn’t my body under those sheets. I didn’t want to look at it or think about it.

I was confused. I thought that holding my son would make it all better. That it would make the pain of the C-section go away. But all Evan does is make me sad. I looked at him, and he reminded me of the awful C-section.

“Maybe this will change, as time goes by,” I thought, “It’s not Evan’s fault I had a horrible first birth.”

And with that, I felt an intense wave of guilt rush over me. What a terrible mother I was, to hate my innocent son for something he couldn’t control. But deep down, I felt like he did control it, because he was breech, and breech was what caused the C-section.

Every time I looked at him, I was sad for what had to happen to me in order to get my son. I paid the ultimate price… for me, it was the ultimate price. I let someone cut into me – rape me – in order to get my son.

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That night, I felt nauseous. I couldn’t imagine throwing up with the huge scar on my belly, it felt like I would split in two if I threw up… so I tried to hyperventilate, breathing strongly in and out over and over again so that I wouldn’t throw up. They called the doctor to get me some anti-nausea medication, but it took a while. My son was laying in his bassinet and I couldn’t hold him because I was trying so hard not to throw up.

My husband was there, but he fell asleep. He didn’t say anything to me. Again, I wanted/needed to hear so many things from him, but he fell asleep. I was left trying to figure out how to get from the bed to the bassinet when Evan woke up. I threw some socks at my husband but he didn't wake up. So I crept, crawled, half hunched over, trying to get to my son while he wailed.

In the end, I sat up with him on my bed, holding him all night long. He was awake for part of it, asleep for part of it. I think we may have tried to breastfeed, but actually, maybe we didn’t. It’s hazy, I don’t really remember. I was so out of it. I do remember that I ended up with a huge muscle pull in my back because I sat in that same position the entire night, trying to create some semblance of empowerment and tenderness out of the first night with my son.

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The next day, friends and family came to see me. They didn’t really look me in the eye. They’re too interested in Evan. They ooh and aww over him, ask to hold him. They can’t get enough of him. They congratulate me on how cute he is.

They know what has happened – at least, they know it in theory. But none of the people who came to see me right after it happened has had a C-section. So they don’t really know what it is like. I have a feeling they can’t imagine how horrible it is – of course, not, because the media portrays it as an ‘easy’ event. Just a little cut and your baby is out. Little cut, my ass.

They’re just glad that Evan is healthy and safe, and that I’m healthy and safe. Well, that’s all in the eye of the beholder. They have no idea how awful I feel, physically or emotionally. I can’t move. I can’t sit up, I can’t roll over, I can’t walk. I feel like an invalid. I’ve never felt this sick in my entire life.

They don’t understand why Evan can’t possibly begin to make up yet for the awfulness that just happened to me. In fact, many of the people who visited me those days were probably glad that I “wisened up” and agreed to the C-section… the “safe way” to have birth.

Most of my visitors didn’t know what to say to me. So they talked about the weather, local sports teams. And they fawned all over Evan. My mom and mother-in-law asked my husband if they could watch the video my doula took of Evan’s birth. They turned it on. I heard the suction sounds, the clanging of the instruments, the doctor’s voice… and I start sobbing inconsolably. It hurt so badly to relive that moment, the worst moment of my life. They turned it off and left the room. My husband held me, but he didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to tell him to say. My life had been changed completely by that one night. I felt like he and I were miles apart.

None of my visitors acknowledged the C-section. I assumed it’s because they don’t want to hear about it, that they think I don’t want to talk about it, or that it’s too painful for them to hear about my pain.

Looking back, I wonder what would have made me feel better. Would I have wanted them to ask about it? Well, only if they were prepared to listen to me sob and cry about it. I tried not to talk about it much – I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. If only someone had said to me, “Wow, this must have been so hard for you. You did something that you never wanted to do, and it must have been so hard. I’m so sorry you’re having to go through all of this. Do you want to talk about it?”

Some people mentioned the C-section indirectly… but they said things like, “Well, at least the baby is healthy” or “At least you didn’t have to go through the pain of childbirth” or “Well, at least you don’t have any complications.”

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And then, of course, the most popular line,

“WELL, AT LEAST YOU HAVE THIS GORGEOUS BABY NOW!”

I never know what to say in response to this comment. It’s like a double-edged sword. And there’s no way to answer it. I will not deny that, yes, having a healthy baby is a good thing. And yes, my son is a beautiful baby. But why did he make me so sad and bitter, if he’s so beautiful? Right after the birth, I couldn't verbalize this… it made me feel like an awful mother. So I smiled weakly and said, “Yes, that’s right... isn’t he beautiful?”

But inside I was screaming – “DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENED TO ME?” It would almost have been better to have something go wrong with the C-section… then perhaps people would have pity for me, or felt bad for me. If I'd died, maybe then people would have gotten the sacrifice I'd made for my son.

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The next few days, I felt horrible. Worse than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. My whole body hurt, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t sit up, I couldn’t stand without it feeling like her whole body is going to split in two. I was on painkillers, which made it hard for me to talk. I remember slurring my words. I hated sounding drunk, and I hated taking the painkillers, because I don’t even like to take aspirin normally. My scar ripped and pulled every time I moved.

I hobbled down the hospital hall with my mom’s help, trying to get a semblance of my fit, athletic self back. I see other moms, who didn’t have C-sections, walking and moving like it’s no big deal. I felt like an invalid, though in my former life I was a woman who'd run three marathons and done two triathlons.

I wondered how in the world I’m ever going to take care of my Baby? When I can’t even move?

It’s really bad. Physically, it’s really bad.

Emotionally, it’s even worse. I was incredibly sad. I hurt inside with a pain that I can’t describe. My innocence was lost, and in its place surfaced sadness, bitterness, and an intense anger. The doctor came in once each day to ‘check on me.’ I wanted to spit on her, to cut HER belly, but I had to be polite. After all, the doctor is the only one who can order drugs to help me deal with the pain.

I finally get fed up with people coming in and out of my room, unfriendly nurses who don’t even say hello before they do something to me… unfriendly nurses who tell me a 30-minute spiel on how to take care of my baby, which I will never remember because I’m so out of it.

I decided I would stay in the hospital the full four days. I didn’t want to go home. I felt awful, and I didn’t really like my son, and I couldn’t move, so I couldn’t take care of him, so I was terrified about going home. I remember dreading going home. The doctor was surprised to hear that I was thinking about staying the full time. She said that she thought I’d be out of there as soon as possible, since I'd wanted to give birth at home originally.

Had she ever had a C-section? Did she even know what a C-section did to a mom’s spirit? I had no confidence that I could care for my son. I hadn’t been able to change his diaper yet, and I’d only just taken my first shower. How in the world was I supposed to go home and be a mom? I just felt like a scarred, battered, reject of a woman. Not a mom. Everyone else was being Evan’s mom… my husband, my mom, my mother-in-law. They were all better with him than I was. I was afraid to be with him. I was still made at him for what I’d gone through. At least while I was in the hospital I could avoid my regular life.

But I hated the hospital even more than regular life, so I decided to leave a day early. I was hoping home would make it all better. But it didn’t make it better. In fact, it all just got worse, but in a different way.

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At home, as the days went by, people seemed to completely forget what happened to me in the hospital. They were too engrossed in Evan. I was still in a lot of pain – I could barely get in and out of bed by myself, I could barely bend over. I dreaded laughing or coughing, because my scar felt like it would rip in two. I couldn’t have a bowel movement for 5 days, and so when I finally did have one, it was so substantial and painful that it did indeed feel like I had just given birth vaginally… but it felt like my scar would split in two.

I could barely move, but there were things I had to do. I was in so much pain… so much pain. I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t want other people around, it felt like another invasion of my privacy. They made me feel like I had to be ‘normal’ again, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fed Evan well – the breastfeeding was pretty horrific at first. He wouldn’t wake up, and when he did, he wouldn’t latch on well. It hurt so badly when he nursed that my toes curled and tears streamed down my face. I felt like a failure, a loser, a total mother reject.

The drugs from the surgery make me feel ‘off.’ I wasn’t myself. Everything seemed so damn hard.

My husband didn’t know what to say to me. He couldn’t make it better, so I think he retreated, out of uncertainty about what to do. I knew he really loved our son, but he was afraid to tell me, because he knew I didn’t love him the way he did yet. That made me feel even worse. What kind of mom doesn’t love her baby?

I know he just wanted me to be happy and celebrate Evan, so he could feel good about our son, too. But doesn’t he get what I had to go through to get Evan here? He had to watch, but he didn’t have to feel it, and his body is scar-free and strong. My body feels like it betrayed me. I wish he would touch me gently, help let me talk about what happened. But he doesn’t seem to want to hear about it at all. I wonder if we’ll will ever be close again.

The first few weeks, I tried to go on a few walks. I made it a few blocks, then had to turn around and go home. I was disgusted with myself. I used to run marathons and work out for over an hour a day. Now I couldn’t even walk a few blocks. Will I ever feel like my old self again? I hated that other people had to pick Evan’s carseat up, drive me around, push the stroller. I was the mom – I should have been doing these things. Everyone else I knew was doing those things for their babies… why was I being punished in this way?

On the outside, I guess I looked the same as I used to pre-pregnancy… so people assumed I was fine. They expected me to walk, talk, and come visit like I used to. I tried my best to meet all of my social obligations. But I was exhausted and sick of having people come over to admire Evan. Even when people came over to watch him, I felt like I had to entertain them, or socialize and all I really wanted to do was sleep or get out of the darn house.

I went to a movie with my husband a week after Evan was born, and after the movie got out, I wanted to go see another one immediately. I didn’t want to go back home. I didn’t want to have to take care of my son. I didn’t feel old enough to have a bay. I didn’t want to have to breastfeed him again, again, and again… and feel the pain in my nipples.

Other women came over with their babies to visit me. They got their babies after giving birth the normal, vaginal way… in a way that was close enough to what they’d expected to make them happy.

I noticed that these other women LOVED their babies. They were proud to show them off. They’d been taking their babies for walks, driving them around, and going on play dates with other women and their babies. They are confused as to why I was still sitting at home, looking so sad. Why wasn’t Christi up and about, like they were? Why didn’t she fawn all over Evan, the way they do their babies?

One of them figures it out… “Oh, now I know. You aren’t doing all of these things because of the C-section. That must be why you aren’t like yourself. I would have figured you’d be up and about by now. Was it really that bad?”

“Yes,” I said, “It was really that bad,” and I hoped and prayed that the mother won’t say, “Well at least you have Evan” because then I’d have to punch her in the face.

I tried to explain to my friend… what it was like to be C-sectioned… but she is so busy interacting with her baby that she doesn’t hear what I’m trying to say… and it’s hard to describe something so awful to someone who has no clue. So, I gave up and went back to feeding Evan.

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Days, weeks, months go by. On the outside, my body has healed, for the most part. My scar still itches and is swollen, a constant reminder of the way my body was brutalized. I ignore my scar, whenever possible. I never look at it in the mirror, or if I do, I focus on my upper body. When I looks into my eyes, I doesn’t see my old self there. A piece of me is still missing. I don’t like the way I look. I look dead. I look like a ghost.

I have terrible flashbacks of the C-section and the last month of my pregnancy, when I found out Evan was breech. These flashbacks come all the time… when I’m with Evan, when we’re on a walk together, when I’m on a run by myself, when we’re in the car, when I’m in the shower, when I see myself in the mirror… especially when I see other pregnant women, women with babies, pediatricians’ offices, doctors’ offices.

Most of the time, though, it’s not a specific memory of the C-section. It’s just this feeling of dread and sadness that passes over me like a wave.

It’s especially difficult at night, since that’s when the C-section happened. When the sun goes down, I start to feel very sad. I wish my husband would hurry up and come home, because I’m by myself, and it’s really hard for me. I can’t tell him this, because it makes me feel like a wimp. C’mon, I’m a grown woman, can’t I deal with the memory of a surgery? I wish I could… if I could use will power to deal with it, I would. But the sadness is so much bigger than me. It overcomes me like a tidal wave, something I can’t fight. My days seem to run into each other, and there’s no distinction. It’s simply survival mode right now, and just when I get a bit of joy in the week, the sadness comes back.

When I go to bed at night, I have a hard time falling asleep. I keep remembering what it was like, the horrible sounds and feelings of the C-section. I have a new horrible memory to go with it, the memory that I was not there and fully present for my son at the beginning. I was wishing I was somewhere else. When he cries at night, and I go into him, I feel like an imposter, like I’m not his mother. Because I still hate what happened. After I go in to comfort him, I can’t fall asleep for hours. My husband is asleep, and he doesn’t hear my cries. If he does, he doesn’t let on. I feel so ignored. Does he even love me anymore? I wouldn't love me, the way I am. How can he?

I often find myself awake at night, until 3 or 4 a.m., at the computer, trying to research and reach out to anyone else who might feel this way. Most women don’t seem to be having this much trouble after birth… there are those who’ve had C-sections who understand what I’m talking about, but I haven’t found a lot of women to commiserate with.

Is it just that no one is talking about it?

It’s hard to know… because when I first meet someone, I can’t tell who had vaginal births, and who had C-sections. And out of those who had C-sections, I can’t tell who’s OK with it (or was glad to have the C-section)… or who’s still struggling with the memory of their birth.

And if I ask a mother about her first birth experience, usually she won’t give me lots of details… or she gives me a superficial answer (usually having to do with her baby)… so I can’t find a lot of support easily if I need it.

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I wonder, “Am I that abnormal?” My husband thinks I should be over the C-section by now. He wants it over for me... and for him. And for Evan. Most people that I talk to about it think I’m crazy (and not the norm) for reacting so sensitively. No matter what I say, I can’t seem to convince my friends and family that C-sections are not the ‘easy way out’ (as so many people think).

The ironic thing is that most people don’t even know anything is wrong with me. Or they don’t know the severity of my depression. I was severely depressed for months and months after my son was born. Looking back, I wonder how I managed to take care of him and myself without totally shutting down… somehow I did manage to take care of us... and perhaps he didn’t catch on all the time that Momma was unhappy. But I lost a lot of ‘love time’ with him, because I was too traumatized by what happened.

I found some websites that talk about the fact that some women feel a bit ‘out of sorts’ after their birth experience, especially if they had a C-section. The websites recommend sleeping a lot, getting support from other women, taking drugs, and seeing a psychologist.

I tried talking with a counselor… and that helped a lot. I found a few other women who know what I’m going through, and that helps even more. Part of what I’m really aching for is support from my husband. He is enjoying Evan a lot these days, but he never asks me about the C-section. I try talking with him about it, I try telling him how difficult it was (and still is) for me… but he tells me I’ve told him all these things before. He is tired of talking about it, I can tell. He says that he doesn’t know what to do, he’d really just like it if it were behind us so we can move on.

He talks about wanting another baby sometime soon… but I know that to do that, I’d have to get pregnant and give birth again. The experience has been wrecked for me for now. I feel very alone, and on top of all the physical and emotional scars, I have a new emotion to add to the mix: guilt. Guilt over not being able to ‘get over it’ so my husband and I can return to our “normal” lives.

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I feel like I missed out on an incredible birth experience, one that I deserved to have. One that every mother should have. I feel like I lost control, and was gypped. I feel betrayed by the people I needed the most, and my entire life has been turned upside down. I don’t know if I can fathom the thought of giving birth again… because of the chance that it will end up in a C-section.

I want to give birth again. I love Evan tremendously. Part of me knows that I want to give birth a second time only if it will help me heal from the first experience. Only if it’s a good experience. Only if I don’t have postpartum depression. Only if I feel like a real mom this time. Only if my husband knows what to say, and helps me in the way I need him to help me. And there’s no way to guarantee that.

I just don’t know if I could survive another C-section. Physically, yes, I’d survive. But emotionally? I’m not sure. I’m still fighting and clawing and pleading my way back from the first one.