LOGO : Site title

W hen I finally went into labour six days after my due date, little did I know my son would enter this world by an unplanned c-section. After a good 24 hours of contractions, the doctor on duty at the hospital broke my waters to speed things along, only to find meconium spilling out with everything else, quite common with overdue babies, I guess. In essence, meconium is baby poop, and in most cases, its presence indicates a toxic condition that is no good for anyone. It almost always calls for an immediate c-section, as was the case with me.

(illustration by Julie Blencowe)

It's funny how perception and reality can be so incredibly distant from each other. Before my son was born, I secretly harboured this bias that c-sections mostly served the weak, vain, and fearful mothers-to-be. Little did I know. I knew of course, that c-sections serve many medically challenging situations where the mother or baby or both are at risk, but I also had this delusional idea they were an easy way out for the kind of mothers who are more interested in the title than the work.

I was so ravenous I considered lying about breaking wind.

We all hear stories about celebrities having their babies early by c-section in order to regain their willowy figures quick so they could go back to being the sexy love interest in the next big blockbuster, or moms to be who give up on a natural childbirth when the time comes, either from being too tired or too scared or both. I grew up with the thought that fear was to be stared down and conquered. Letting fear win in any situation meant that somehow you have failed. Again, little did I know.

I had this ridiculous belief that surviving labour and child birth in all its extremeness, the way nature intended, was a rite of passage of sorts and I was weirdly looking forward to the challenge. If I came out the other side in one piece, I would properly earn the right to be a mother.

The idea of being cut open also didn't appeal to me. I thought of my superpregnant body as quite sacred and beautiful at that point. The idea that some doctor would come along after nine months and slit open my beautifully brewed belly for any reason was unthinkable to me.

When my son was born, I learned very quick that not only have c-sections saved countless lives, including that of my own baby, but they're also no picnic to recover from. Dealing with a six inch multi-layered incision after a major abdominal surgery for which they make you stay awake is just plain tough. When you add the three sleepless nights at the hospital, along with regular childbirth stuff like getting to know your new baby, figuring out breastfeeding and dealing with the mess of emotions that come out of you like some biblical flood, all the while entertaining the many phone calls and visits from friends and family, a c-section is far from the easy way out.

I have a few of my own c-section realities to share that I never read in any book. If they help with even one person's ease of what to expect, then it will have been worth it the time that it took to write about them.

F irst off, before the nurses let you eat anything after the surgery, you must “pass gas.” Until you do, the most you can expect to eat is broth, jello and popsicles. By the time the anesthetic wore off, I was STARVING, and that just didn't cut it. It seemed like such a ridiculously unimportant detail to me in the grand scheme of things. I mean, really. I was so ravenous that I even considered lying about breaking wind, but when it finally happened, trust me, it was such a newsworthy event that I wanted to call the local newspaper. I finally was able to let one go at 3:00 am that night, following my 10:00 am c-section. The success of that meant that my innards remained in working order after the surgeon moved everything in there around so that he could to pull my baby out into the world. I called the nurses instead of the newspaper and they brought me two pieces of toast with peanut butter. Bless their hearts.

If you're planning to breastfeed, a c-section can really delay your milk coming in. I don't know whether it's because of the pain meds or that the unnatural suddenness of the procedure shocked my hormones and they had to catch up, or both, but mine finally came on the 8th day, when a normal waiting period is more like three to five days. I supplemented feedings with formula after the first two days because my baby had lost 9% of his body weight by then and was showing signs of jaundice. He gained his body weight back by day six, at which point my doctor told me that if I really wanted to breastfeed to go cold turkey on the formula, pump after each feeding for the stimulation, and tough it out. I did. I had only one sleepless night with my fussing baby, and my milk came in the next day.

If your c-section is unplanned and due to concerns about the baby, there's a good chance they will take your baby away to the NICU for a few hours of precautionary observation. This happened to me and I was devastated at the time. It was a good five hours before they brought him to my bedside. I'm not quite sure what I would have done at first anyway, since at the time my arms were still immobile from the anesthetic, but I had read so much about the powerful bonding that happens in the first few hours after birth that by the time they brought my baby to me, I was a crazy person. Looking back on it now, there was no damage done to our bonding. We're bonded. No question. Breastfeeding worked out. When they brought him to me, my baby still had the urge and know-how to suck, even after the five hours.

As best you can, don't let your incision run the show when you get home. As hard as it was, I just decided I was not going to let it rule me and I tried to be as active and on my feet as much as I possibly could, even if it hurt, and even if it took me three times as long to do anything. I strapped my new baby to me and went for walks outside, even that first week. Never by myself, of course. In that first week I sometimes only made it to the end of the driveway and really, it was more like shuffling than walking, but still. The gulps of fresh air were worth it. Everybody is different and heals at different rates, but for me, I really believe that pushing myself to do those things every day, even if I could only do a little bit, shortened my recovery.

A nd lastly, I woke up every night soaked in sweat and had ridiculously bad body odour for about the first two weeks after I got home from the hospital. I'm not sure if this happens with natural deliveries too, but it's worth mentioning regardless, because for sure I never read it anywhere. I chalk it up to a combination of the pain meds working their way out of my system and my crashing hormone levels. Whatever the reasons are, by morning I felt and smelled like I had run a marathon in my sleep every night and forgot to shower. Bizarre. Like everything else though, it passed.

Looking back, the means it took to bring my child into this world is such an incredibly small part of becoming a parent. My baby is healthy. I was pregnant for nine months. I survived the first weeks of sleepless nights and incredibly sore nipples and whatever else. I look back on it as treasured time now, even the recovery from my c-section.

I get it now that becoming a mother is so incredibly sacred. What any mother gets as her experience when her baby is born is very individual and no part of it is worthy to be judged by anyone. There is no such thing as an easy way through any of it. If I get blessed with a second pregnancy, I'd give birth the old fashioned way, if given the chance, but if another c-section is in my future, then so be it. That part doesn't matter to me anymore.

The triumph over fear thing I thought only applied to child birth has taken on so much more of a broader meaning for me now. Becoming a parent is the most frightening and challenging thing I have ever done in my life. But it is also the most rewarding, and worth whatever labour and delivery throws my way. A second c-section? It's a minor detail. Bring it on. I'll be ready.