I believe that a planned c-section is both better and worse than most people think. I could be wrong, but I think most people view it as the worst possible way to have a baby. I suppose I would have too before my first child was born. The Sugar Plum was a planned c-section because she was a very stubborn footling breach. I was nervous about having a baby to begin with because I have (had!) a low pain tolerance and an absolute terror of all things medical and needle-y. When it became clear she would have to be a c-section I was . . . well, it is almost hard to remember the emotions because what came afterward sort of erased every prior feeling. If you have to have a c-section, I highly recommend it being planned in advance (haha) so that you can adjust to the idea. I went into the OR with a sort of grim determination. I had resigned myself to the facts: sure this might kill me, but they would let me keep the baby, after all. But after the Sugar Plum was born I was absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude. Childbirth is an incredible gift. That modern surgery makes it possible for someone like me to have a baby is even more of a miracle. I don’t take either of these things for granted.
So yes, you get sliced open most unceremoniously and then stapled, glued, and taped back together like a packing box. It is hardly “natural.” But it really isn’t so bad.
- You don’t feel anything. (The worst pain I have experienced over the course of three c-sections was with the Mole, when the nurses had “difficulty” getting my IV in. The first nurse tried twice, the second nurse got it on her second try.)
- The doctors and nurses are very calm and the atmosphere is laid back (if also highly controlled). Everyone patiently explains what they are doing and what you should expect. They invite you to ask for what you need! (During the surgery, obviously. Afterward you are as much at the mercy of the nurse on duty as anyone else.)
- Scheduled. Need I say more?
The huge downside to a c-section, in my experience, is the recovery time. But even that isn’t what I would have expected or what most people seem to think. I feel fabulous (as long as I follow the rules). I just had major surgery, I shouldn’t feel this good, right? (And I’m not saying that on prescription painkillers.) In fact, I remember talking to a friend a week or so after the Sugar Plum was born and swearing to her that I would do it again next week it was such a piece of cake. Two more surgeries under my belt and it is much the same. Except now I can articulate what is so awful about it.
- I feel great and I look fine. But I can’t do anything. I finally had time to take a walk on Wednesday and it felt so good to stretch my legs. They seemed to beg me, ”RUN! You can do it!” (I didn’t.) My arms and upper body instinctively reach out for my nearly 40 pound Mole (I did pick her up in a panic last week) without a thought for the way I am merely pasted together in the middle. 98% of my body feels like I could do anything. Anything. But I well remember from my recovery time with the Mole that 100% of me will regret doing everything I think I can do. I will feel as though I am being ripped apart despite the blessed Ibuprofen.
- I feel so fraudulent. There is nothing visibly wrong with me! People don’t expect you to use a motorized wheelchair thingy at the grocery store even if you do have the baby with you. They can’t know how it hurts to walk the short length of the store. I feel so guilty asking for help with anything, so weak for admitting I can’t keep up. I’m a generally healthy, relatively young woman. But for 2 weeks or more I’m not supposed to lift anything over 10 pounds. Do you have any idea how limiting that is? For at least 6 weeks I can’t do anything remotely strenuous (like, say. . . window shop at the mall - I know this because I tried it once).
- I feel so very defective. I am impatient to resume my usual activities. Yes, I can ask my husband to vacuum or mop the floor, move the overflowing hamper or whatever trivial thing and he is happy to oblige. But I want to do it myself like I am used to doing, like normal women do. I hate to wait, I hate to be dependent.
We celebrated Thanksgiving today and I didn’t do anything. My mother and sister cooked everything, brought everything and cleaned up (leaving me with leftovers!?). I feel a little guilty, but probably a LOT more accepting than I would have been after either of my other two were born. I know SO much better what to expect, I understand that this stage is temporary.
