Koalamama

My sweet son's first night on earth - alone, in a plastic box, having not even been touched by his Mothers hands.

My first night as a Mother. Alone, scared, in pain, unable to move my legs, catheterised and utterly disconnected.

Days later I still have trouble walking upright.

The scar on my uterus and on my belly will fade away....but the deep tears in my heart and the damage done to my child will never go away.

Forgive me my darling. Mumma's so sorry.

I forgive you Mumma!

Caesarean Hurts Babies.

little_mammal

Out of my sight, before I knew anything, the cord was clamped and cut.

My first contact with my baby.

Caesarean Hurts Women.

Phoenix

My baby is 9 months old but I'm still waiting for her to be born. Sometimes I wonder how she got here, and if she's really mine. Sometimes I wonder if they realise what they really took from us.

Caesarean Hurts Women and Babies.

RainbowMummy

First daughter's birth: Deflex posterior 8lb 3oz - planned hospital birth - C-Section at 43weeks March 2006
Second daughter's birth: Deflex posterior 10lb 12 oz - planned homebirth - Homebirthed at 43 weeks 4 days August 2008

Stolen
The pain won’t stop
You are not coming
I cannot birth you
They are cutting you out

Your Daddy comforts but still I’m scared
The anesthetist visits but I’m not prepared

For what’s beyond those clinical doors where you will be stolen away from me

The staff are nice
They talk to me
They ease the pain & I tell myself to breathe

I cannot feel you, I have forgotten you
I’m lost in a world of numbness & pain

Your Daddy cannot be near me
I am pricked & jostled
I feel so huge but you are not there

The staff stay with me, taking it in turns
They explain & joke but I am not in the mood

They lift my head to see you born but I was not lifted high enough
Why didn’t I speak up? Why didn’t I say? I was numb. All numb. I was not even there.

Daddy said you were a girl
I thought, ‘I should be pleased’. They say she’s alive. They say she can breathe.

I cannot see. I cannot feel. I cannot feel. I cannot feel.

They suck out her lungs so she can breathe.
Daddy goes away to cut the cord but I do not see it. I am left alone.
How many seconds How many minutes before I get to see you?
I am being stitched up.

Daddy brings you over.
You are all wrapped up.
It’s wrong! It’s not right!
MY skin’s supposed to touch you! My nipple you should suck!
I cannot feel you I cannot see you, you are all wrapped up!

You are so cute, your cute button lips, your one squished eye, your dark, dark hair.

I say something – I don’t know what
You open one eye, you seem to know me.
But I don’t know you! Whose baby are you? You aren’t the one I carried for 9 months & 3 weeks!

The anesthetist says don’t I want to touch you
Guilt! Oh Guilt! It’s my baby, I should love her

But love her I do. But it’s all in my head. My heart is above me. I am not there.

I don’t know what to do
Too many people are there
They know you better than me
I don’t want you there

I ask Daddy to take to away
The anesthetist is shocked, ‘Don’t you want to spend more time with your daughter’ he says
Guilt! Oh Guilt! This is my baby girl but I cannot be with her, I cannot hold her, too many people are there, I am not there.
I make some excuse about her being cold. But I am cold. I am numb. I am not there.

Daddy takes you away with a lovely, motherly nurse.
She is washing you!
She is touching you!
But you are supposed to be mine!

They are stitching me up but it takes so long. Why can’t they hurry?
They are doing their job well but I don’t care! I just want my baby back! I just want to feel!
I want to touch you. I want my heart to sing. I want your Daddy near. But I am taken away till my temperature is stable.
I must stay calm so I can see you sooner.

A nice man gives me a blue fairy balloon. It is for you. What a lovely thing to do! At least somebody cares that my baby’s not with me!

Oh ticking clock! How long can one hour be!

I am wheeled to my room where you & your Daddy wait for me.

I see your Daddy, I see your crib

But now it’s 6 months on…Did I touch you? Did I look at you? What were my first thoughts?
Daddy says I fed you but I cannot remember. I cannot remember. I cannot remember.

I sold my soul on March the 1st 2006
Pressured by Dr’s clocks persistent ticks

I guessed as my first, my guinea pig you’d be
But I never foresaw such a brutal tragedy.

To the Dr your ‘due date’ was set in stone as February 7th.
& after that date doom & gloom were ever present.

Your Dr, midwives & grandparents had no faith in you.
They had no faith in birth & we (your parents) failed you too.

We bear the scars, you & Mummy both
Because society preached to us, ‘Birth, have no hope’.

I had a wonderful pregnancy reading books & searching
So I could give the best start to you whom I was nurturing.

For an active labour & no drugs I did heaps of exercise
Got a private Dr & hospital so you’d be born alive.

This Dr was rare, he allowed active labour, they promised me
From routine drugs & VE’s I would be free.

To late I was to hear about his wife
Who for all her 5 babies went under the knife.

I sang & read to you as we bonded together
I dreamed of an empowering birth in rainy weather.

I thought I could birth you & to see you I could hardly wait.
Until that dreaded hour when we went ‘POST DATES’.

The Dr frowned, his receptionist tut-tutted
The in-laws kept ringing, our doula fluttered.

‘42 weeks’ the Dr ‘generously’ said
You had to be born by then, his line marked in red.

41, 42 the weeks dragged on
Was my body defective? Were the dates maybe wrong?

The Dr hit the panic button at 42+3
But he said he wouldn’t desert us, I guess he wanted his fee.

The only people with faith in you were Mummy & Daddy
But we invaded your haven with CTG’s & scans to keep our Dr & family happy.

42+5 even the doula was stumped
With everything to bring on labour my body had been pumped.

Alone & unsupported we made the decision
That you would be induced from the world where you were hidden.

Feb 28th began the nightmare we shared
Of needles & agony & no one who cared.

Mummy was terrified, ‘What had I done?!’
This was so not right!! You just weren’t ready to come!!

But no one heard my unspoken screams & your unuttered cries.
The world would have called us ungrateful if they saw tears in our eyes.

The Dr tortured your Mummy & ripped out your hair,
In pain you pulled your head back, the induction failed, they said ‘Sign right there’.

How did this happen? My dream was shattered.
Was I being unreasonable? Did birth really not matter?

Reduced to slabs of meat on a table,
You & I were shoved into a system where natural birth is made fable.

Tubes, knives, numbness, monitors beeping
This was supposed to be a normal greeting?

Alien hands grasped you around your head
And ripped you from your cosy bed.

The cord that bound us as one together
Was severed cruelly for forever.

Bright lights & freezing air, you were hit with them both
Then rushed to have a tube thrust down your screaming throat.

No Mummy, no cord blood, no snuggly breasts
& those bastards telling you that you should feel blessed.

You met your drugged out Mummy who could barely speak
And someone had wrapped you up in a horrid sheet.

You knew it was me but then you were whisked away
By a nurse who ‘let’ Daddy trail along in the fray.

You were weighed, bathed & measured
While Mummy recovered from a butchering that should never have happened we later discovered.

Mummy learnt the hard way to Leave Babies Alone.
They come when God’s ready & they come on their own!

Caesarean Hurts.

Ceres

This is me meeting my baby for the first time. It was a failure to wait caesarean. I was promised immediate skin to skin contact once he was "born" and yet he was handed to me like this, cord clamped and cut and swaddled. Instead of skin to skin, all I could touch was his face.

Maisee

I have 2 children and 2 scars
how did my children arrive here on earth
there was no BIRTH!

Mummachelle

The wound that never quite heals, the pain that never quite fades, the scar that will always remain. It will forever be in my heart and mind.

April

The c/s isn't actually something I think about a lot, and I suppose really my issues aren't with the c/s itself, but with the lead up to it. I haven't thought about it in great detail for a long while, and thought I was in an okay spot with it all...until the 60mins 'choice' shit came up and I had a 'friend' harping on at me that previous birth trauma is a valid reason for a c/s. And of course when I protest and say, BTDT, didn't work, trauma is still there, I get told that not everyone is me, (a pity they're not then hey ) not everyone is able to face their fear etc and they should be able to choose a c/s.

I tried to pack it away in my head, thought I would deal with it after the birth, but it won't go away...I tried to pretend that it wasn't bothering me and my scar got itchy! And the itch didn't subside until I started getting this out...

I find it difficult to talk about Indy's pregnancy, and I have either forgotten or just blocked out chunks of it. Likewise I don't really like talking about the c/s. I feel embarrassed for the way I was when pregnant with Indy and I feel really embarrassed that I had a c/s. I assume that other women who have had elective c/s's (I am referring to those who choose them, not those who are bullied into them) can just say the words 'I had a c/s' with no emotion, I think there are some who say it proudly...I hate saying it. What's even worse is when people ask why...I struggle to answer. I say 'previous birth trauma' and feel foolish...even if they nod in agreement that a c/s was (to them) a good 'choice'. I try to think of some other reason to give instead...but what? I toy with saying 'because I'm an idiot', but everyone knows someone who has had a c/s and I had better not offend them, hey?! And then if I said that I'd have to explain why...and then it always comes back to choice...choice choice, fucking choice.

So before I got pregnant with Indy the degree to which Jet's birth 'bothered' me, was that I could say it was awful, that I never wanted to 'do that again' (meaning labour/birth) and that next time I would much rather have a c/s. (Well, actually for about the first 6mths the idea of having another baby was a no go zone!) However, there was no sense of dread. There was fear, but I wasn't petrified. I knew I didn't really want to go through a labour like that again (well, any labour really), but I hadn't hit the hysterical point where I would rather die than do it again. I don't feel that I really had any PTSD symptoms before getting pregnant, and I know that its a bit odd for it to be that way (I don't mean odd in a bad way, just that stuff usually comes out within the first 3-6mths, and for me it wasn't till 9-12mths that it did), but once I got past the 1st trimester, once I realised that the baby did indeed have to come out somewhere and that (unusually enough) the obs/drs here were not keen to c/s at all, it all came out...and how!

Flashbacks started at some point, I dreamt about Jet's birth and even though I already had anxiety, it ramped up to a whole new level. I could go from 0 to fucking crazy within seconds and it was really quite a scary time.
It’s all a bit hazy... I just remember being really angry all the time. Crying a lot because 'they' (drs/knobs) were going to force me to birth vaginally and really, had very little sympathy for what I went through. I remember at some point being offered counselling, but I said no because I thought it was part of their ploy to 'make' me birth vaginally...it was by a Dr I did not know well, to a counseller I had never heard of, even in my more 'sane' moments I would have been reluctant to take it on, but in the middle of what was essentially a mental breakdown, it was out of the question...it was a conspiracy.
I suppose what makes me the most uncomfortable when talking about Indy's pregnancy is not what I went through, or even that I went through it, but that I had a baby already in my care. So I wasn't just falling apart, I was falling apart while trying to take care of a baby (Jet and Indy are 18mths apart) and though I never physically harmed him in anyway, I did often yell at him in anger and unfortunately he did witness some of my out of control moments. (The only one I can still remember clearly is screaming in the kitchen something about killing myself while holding a kitchen knife to my throat...and he was right there... I *think* it was the evening after an ob appointment where they told me again that they saw no reason to give me a c/s) Somehow our attachment stayed strong. I hope he doesn't remember any of it though!!!

For a long time I carried guilt for the way Indy was 'born'. I always thought I had 'chosen' a c/s for myself, I didn't seek out help for my mental health issues and therefore it was my 'fault', I was to blame for the c/s. However I have recently, and I am talking only within the last few weeks, realised that I have been 'glazing' a few things over, and in my haste to feel the guilt (because I do it so damn well) I have 'forgotten' that I DID ask for help....I just didn't get it
My family knew that Jet's birth was not good, they knew that I wanted a c/s instead, they knew I was shit scared of labour...my own mother (a former telephone counsellor) saw me the night that I had been told that there was no reason for me to have a c/s. She saw my fear, my anxiety and me crying hysterically.
And yet not she, not ANYONE in my family ever asked about Jet's birth, nor did they try and step in to get me some psychological help.

At some point during the pregnancy, I can't remember when (I know it was after 24wks, because that's when my GP (who also catches babies) referred me to the obs at the women's clinic), after I had been told that they wouldn't give me a c/s, I went and saw the psychiatrist that I had been seeing off and on for a few years for depression and anxiety. Admittedly my motive was to get him to help me convince the obs that I was so mentally ill that a c/s was warranted, but well...that says it all really!!!

For some fucked up reason I just don't understand, despite me talking to him and telling him about my fear, the flashbacks and suicidal tendencies, he did indeed help me get the c/s. Nevermind the classic signs of PSTD, nevermind the bleedingly obvious fact that I was very VERY mentally ill, those things were not addressed at all. They were spoken of, but not treated. Instead they were used 'in my favour' to get the c/s. He wrote letters to the obs for me, telling them how scared I was and that he feared what I would do if I didn't get the c/s. And that is where I let go of the notion that a- I chose a c/s and b- that I had any fucking choice at all. And yeah, I was suicidal, yeah I had pretty much said 'if I don't get a c/s I'm going to kill myself', but FFS, why not address the fucking problem????

Here was a mental health professional who I trusted and turned to in a very vulnerable and fucked up state, essentially taking away any ability of mine to choose anything by reinforcing my fears and enabling me to be railroaded by them into the lesser of 2 evils. Not once did he talk about how to heal myself, not once was any further counselling suggested...instead I was left in the same fucked up state where I thought that I was 'making the right choice', because he AGREED with me.

The final weeks of Indy's pregnancy were a bit weird. I was relieved when at 32wks they finally booked a c/s for 39wks. Somehow I think I was already realising that I was taking a wrong turn, but it was far too late to do anything, and besides, those that had 'helped' me agreed with how I thought so this was the right thing to do...right?
While on one hand I was shit scared of labour, on the other I was happy that the c/s was at 39wks...later than they usually are, because I knew he would be that little bit more cooked...and really I would have gone as long as I could to make sure he was ready...if I could have been guaranteed that I wouldn't labour (which is impossible, but as you can see I was already admitting in my head that this was not entirely safe).

I suppose that's all there is of Indy's pregnancy...the c/s I remember very little of, and I cannot bring myself to say I gave birth to him (I don't feel I can about Jet either really) and even to say that he was 'born' I can't do it without the ' '... That wasn't a birth. It was a fucking catastrophe! The c/s was a 'good' one, as far as c/s's go. No dramas, no trauma and I healed well. Indy had weird breathing so went to the nursery for a day or 2...antibiotics, formula etc, you know how it goes

Breastfeeding ended almost as soon as it started because, surprise surprise, I was still quite emotionally unstable. Why no, the c/s didn't whisk away all that previous birth trauma and leave me feeling blissfully happy and able to parent 2 children like nothing had happened. It was still there, I wasn't afraid of labouring having had the baby already, but I started reliving the shitful experience of trying to breastfeed Jet. I knew I was not well. I knew I wasn't getting better...but because the trauma wasn't an issue now that I had had the c/s, I had to blame something else for my inability to function. So breastfeeding it was, and I stopped breastfeeding believing that it was sending me insane and that if I didn't stop I would end up on meds (and I HATE being on meds because they make me feel like a zombie).
I ended up on meds anyway. Yes the same psychiatrist that I saw throughout pregnancy ever so helpfully observed the same fucking symptoms I had before the baby was born, after the baby was born and in his wisdom diagnosed me with PND... What a fucking joke.

He also decided that I was 'too attached' (in his opinion) to my children, questioned my ways of parenting, and did the best thing he ever did for me...referred me onto a psychologist to talk about my 'attachment issues'. (Not before prescribing sleeping tablets to 'fix' my PND though...)
Said psychologist is a woman and a mother, she also happens to AP...we are the only other people each other knows IRL that has heard of The Sears.

Within weeks, much to the psychiatrist's disapproval, I was off meds and I had been diagnosed not with PND, but with PTSD. And not long after I stopped seeing the psychiatrist...he still didn't agree with the PTSD diagnosis either...

Its amazing how things can change when you get some decent support, and its interesting and annoying (to me anyway) how people make assumptions about my current feelings/opinions based on stuff that happened back then…even knowing that I was not well then at all.

Because I had a c/s then I must be pro c/s, pro women being able to choose having c/s’s etc, I’m not allowed to say, you know, I did the wrong thing, it was stupid, I wish I didn’t have one.
I haven’t even attempted to say to anyone (other than the few I am sharing this with atm) yet that I didn’t get the help I needed then, and that I feel ripped off by the ‘care’ provided by the psychiatrist… I feel I know already what ‘people’ (family of course) will say – ‘you got what you wanted’. Well sure…I was very mentally ill and got what I wanted…but did I get what I needed. No.

While I was pregnant with Indy, my older sister was also pregnant with her second child. She had an ‘emergency’ c/s with her firstborn after an attempted homebirth, so she was contemplating a repeat c/s…because it was ‘easier’, more ‘convenient’, she would be able to plan for the care of her other child for the time of ‘birth’ because she would know exactly when it would be. Unfortunately I think we shared similar fears of birthing, unfortunately I think I did what the psychiatrist did to me, to my sister. We would talk about c/s’s and I would reinforce her thoughts that it would be better for her…for us…to have one. Birth was scary, birth was unsafe, c/s’s meant control and none of the traumatic stuff we had gone through in our first birth experiences.

Since I have actually received proper psychological help and come to realise what happened I have noticed a change in the relationship with my sister. She was one of the first people I told that I was pregnant, she was one of the first family members that I told that we were homebirthing…I thought she would share my excitement, having wanted one herself earlier. Nup. Because I no longer share her view that c/s is okay, it is seen as a personal attack. Phonecalls used to be friendly, sisterly, loving, supportive.

Instead I find myself defending my birth choices, my life choices and my parenting choices…and I find that she has been leaking information to my mum, despite saying she wouldn’t. She has never met my kids, yet takes offence already to their long hair, saying that I should cut it because they need to learn about society’s expectations. This moment of brilliant sisterly support came while I spoke to her about how upset I was that the ILs were taking issue with some of our parenting…she said how awful it was for them to be doing that…then started questioning all of my parenting herself, expecting me to justify it all to her and do it all as she says. This is new. This, I feel, has happened because I dared to say I thought having a c/s was wrong and that I was going to homebirth.

My little sister had a baby last year. In early pregnancy she jokingly said to me, oh I’ll just get sliced and diced like you hey? Like as if a c/s was funny and completely okay. I was mortified that I could have passed on that kind of message to my teenage sister. I had bad feelings about the way her pregnancy was going to end…she is small, petite, however the hell you want to put it and the seed of doubt was cast very early by a Dr questioning the width of her pelvis…*sigh*
There were plenty of women in her life that had had vaginal births, but despite their birthing ability everyone seemed all too happy to buy into the shit spun by Drs and I was the only one who would tell her she could do it, that the baby was not going to grow so large that it would fit out…nature doesn’t work that way.

Despite my efforts to boost her confidence she ended up with an ‘emergency’ c/s, and the ‘lovely’ ob told her, while stitching her up, that she should never attempt a vaginal birth again. What a fucking joke.
I am so angry for her, and I am the only one. She was fucked over by the system, classic case of ‘failure to wait’, they were all too happy to blame her ‘tiny’ pelvis for their eagerness to cut her baby out…hell, they pushed her to have an epidural in labour ‘just in case’ they had to go to theatre!!!

Everyone else buys into the shit the ‘nice’ ob said, he is ‘nice’ and an ob, so he MUST be right! There’s no possible way that the fucking HUGE 6lb baby could possibly get out!Because I am not afraid to vocalise my thoughts about what happened, I get odd looks from the family. Because I dare to question the legitimacy of the ‘emergency’, I get odd looks.

Because I dare to say that I don’t think c/s’s are safe, I get odd looks. I get the fucking ‘choice’ speech…I get the ‘c/s’s have their place’ speech. No shit moron! They have their place…in REAL emergencies. Not emergencies like the ob is too fucking impatient to wait for a labouring woman to dilate at her own speed.

When I was mentally ill and shouting out for a c/s I was enabled. People were more than happy to reinforce my fears and support me for a c/s.Now that I am well and want a REAL birth, I am doubted, I am questioned, I get odd looks, I am expected to justify my feelings, and I receive much less support from those around me IRL.C/s, not a solution for birth trauma.

Postscript: April freebirthed her third baby in water last week. Her baby was caught by his daddy, went onto his mama and has not left her since. Breastfeeding has gone beautifully for the first time ever in April's experience of newborns. What a triumph for her!

From this

To this!

Which one would you prefer?

Bringing to you Awareness on National Caesarean Awareness Day.

Understand. Empathy. Love. Support.
Birth Matters!

Every woman, every baby and every family deserve a joyous birth!