What Really Matters?

I shave my armpits and my legs. Well, ususally. On the days that I get a chance to take a shower. I have been wondering if this somehow makes me ill-equipped for a VBAC.

I recently dragged my husband to a screening of The Business of Being Born, Ricki Lake's documentary about midwifery in America. We were expecting lots of armpit hair and the overwhelming aroma of patchouli.

To our surprise, most of the people there looked--well, like us. Young couples, pregnant or with small babies, casually dressed in clothes that probably came from the mall.

The documentary was shown at a Cinema and Drafthouse (which was, by the way, one of the reasons I was able to convince DH to go with me). I wanted to go not because I plan to have this baby with the help of a midwife or because I was interested in a home birth, but because it was sponsored by ICAN: the VBAC people.

I knew from checking out their website that they hold meetings once a month at a local library, but I wasn't ready to go to one just yet. I needed to check out the people--to see if my vision of a "VBACer" was realistic. And as I've mentioned, for the most part, it wasn't.

Still though, ICAN has somewhat of a reputation for being "militant"--much like The Le Leche League. I consider myself a lactivist (I still nurse my 27 month old about once a day), but when it comes down to it, I really don't give a crap whether you do or not. Unless you tell me that you think breastfeeding my toddler is "gross", in which case, it's on.

I was afraid that the ICAN people would corner me and shove literature featuring bloody c-section scalpels at me. But they didn't. They had plenty of literature about things such as the dramatic increase in c-sections and the risks of uterine ruture in VBACs compared with the risk of a routine c-section. But if you wanted to read it, you had to pick it up off the front table.

I soaked all this in, while sipping my Sprite and wishing I could indulge in a beer like my DH.

And then the film started. I watched most of it with cautious interest and fascination. The women who had home births were strong, and educated, and funny. They expressed doubts and fears and were cheered on by husbands and midwives and doulas.

But then they started talking about c-sections. As I watched a woman describe the events that led to her c-section, I was shocked to hear her describe the birth of my own first child: from the first intervention to the last, and ending in emergency surgery.

The rational part of me began to shut off the feelings of anger and sadness--and violation, frankly. Because I have a healthy son who got here safely, and as everyone knows, in the end, that's all that really matters. Right?

Except I don't think it is the only thing that matters.

I think it also matters that my OB started "preparing" me for the possibility of a c-section when I was 20 weeks pregnant. And I think it matters that I was admitted for an induction at 36 weeks 6 days pregnant because of protein in my urine that wasn't there by the time I got to the hospital. It matters that I didn't get to hold my son for more than 5 hours after his birth because he was in the NICU and I was unable to move to get to him, having been recently been cut open and all. It matters that he was in the NICU in the first place because he had fluid in his lungs that would have been squeezed out had he gone through the birth canal.

I, like most women (I imagine) always pictured the birth of my child in my head. I pictured hours of difficult labor, coached my my supportive husband. I knew it would be hard, but I couldn't wait for the end result--the doctor placing my squirming, slimy baby on my chest. I pictured holding him and being the first one to look into his eyes, the first one to count his fingers and toes, the first one to tell him how much I loved him, as I had for so many months when he was inside me.

I pictured placing him to my breast for his first feeding and watching as he watched me. But I didn't give him his first feeding. Some nurse in the NICU did, despite my specific instructions that he not receive any bottles. I couldn't nurse him for 24 hours because I was on Magnesium Sulfate to counteract symptoms of Preeclampsia that I may or may not have ever had.

I think those things do matter.

Which brings me to now. I am 14 weeks and 5 days pregnant with our second child. My goal is to have a VBAC. I found a new OB who says I can try. I'm not sure what that means, or if I fully trust him.

The ICAN people say a lot of doctors will pull the "bait and switch" on their patients. They'll tell you that you can have a VBAC, and then at 37 weeks they come up with a reason why it isn't safe. There is much research that I still need to do, and many preparations to be made.

I have some time on my side for now. I figured I'd keep a blog of my experience, so I could have a place to keep track of all the millions of thoughts that creep into my head. Fears and doubts, and hopeful anticipation. Things that matter.