From my quiet Corner : A note from a mothers heart

I am a few days late to the party, but I wanted to slow down and give this the attention, detail, and heart it deserves. National C-section Day is of great importance to me because without it my story doesn’t exist.

I have had 4 C-sections. That is four times that my body was cut open. Four times I laid on a cold operating table, with the bright light shining on my face but knowing it was providing adequate light to assist in birthing my babies. My heart racing, my heart pouring out prayers hard and fast, that everything would be okay. Four times I handed over control and trusted that this was the way my baby would be brought earthside safely.

The first time I found out I was pregnant and started planning what the next nine months would bring, this is never what I imagined the end would look like. This was never part of the plan, and for a very long time that truth hurt.

My first c-section was not what I expected it would have been when the option was presented to me after 72 hours of labor and not progressing. I was scared and felt unprepared. I remember feeling the pressure of them starting the incision, the tugging and pulling of them helping to deliver my baby. It was such an odd feeling of knowing I was numb from mid chest to my toes, yet oddly aware of what was happening on the other side of that big blue curtain.

I loved my baby immediately and will forever cherish that moment when they brought my baby around and put us cheek to cheek before whisking them away to be cared for, while I was still being sewn up and cared for myself. With all of the emotions I experienced in that moment, I never anticipated grief being one of them. I grieved the birth I had spent nine months “planning”, the expectations of reaching down and pulling my baby to my chest. The immediate feeling of skin to skin with my baby. Both sets of emotions lived so boldly front and center in my heart.

Then I did it all again, and again. By my second c-section, I knew what was coming, what to pack to best assist in my healing and for my baby, the emotions I would face. While the feeling of being unprepared seemed less aggressive, fear seemed to take its place. I knew the pain that waited on the other side. I knew the slow shuffle across the room, the pain of the incision, the way laughing, coughing or standing up to fast could take your breath away. By my third, my body felt tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix. Strong, but so tired, scarred but still showing up.

There is something so humbling about handing your body over to surgery so many times and then asking it to heal, while caring for and nurturing a newborn, while still being “mom” to everyone else. knowing you are going to ask it to do it all over again.

The fourth c-section felt different; I was rushed in for delivery before I even had a chance to process this was going to be my baby boy’s birthday. I knew something was wrong, something felt different. I begged someone to hear me and to listen to my cries for help. Thankfully my favorite OBGYN was on the floor, slowed his pace and heard my words. He fought for me and advocated that it was time to deliver, getting me and my son into the ever-familiar operating room. The process the same, sitting as still as I can while they administer the spinal, the warm feeling that spreads from the tops of my legs slowly further down to my toes and up into my chest. The nurses carefully laying me back to move me to the operating table, fully awake and equally out of control. The comfort of them finally bringing my husband in to stand beside my head and offer me support, while we waited to hear our baby’s first cry.

It was what followed I had not prepared my heart and mind for. The sounds of the hustle and bustle the nurses and doctors made while they worked around my open body, working to save us both. A uterine rupture. The thing that my body knew was wrong and my brain was trying and fighting to advocate for, for days. As soon as they started the procedure my uterus ruptured, everything changed from routine to emergency. After what seemed like hours but was really only a matter of minutes, that long awaited moment, the moment we had prayed for, for months was finally here. Our first and only son was born. We heard his sweet cry and instantly my heart filled with love. We got to meet, my husband snuggled him for a minute and then they whisked him to the in-hospital NICU, for a little oxygen support. Meanwhile the doctors finished caring for me and then told me the words I had never prepared myself for. That this would be my last baby, the last time I experienced any of this. Suddenly this room, this experience became something I wanted to photograph and keep locked away. Through tear filled eyes I sampled every aspect of the room creating a scrap book of memories I would keep and cherish forever.

This is the part I really hope other mom’s can hear and take away from this. A C-Section is never the easy way out, they are not a failure, they are not cheating, they are not less than. C-sections are a major surgery followed by immediate motherhood. They are standing up and walking a mere hours after being cut ” in half”. They are lifting a baby that nearly meets your max lifting restriction, your core is on fire, your body aches, yet you just do what needs to be done. They are scars you didn’t plan on having but earned on your journey to survival for both you and your baby.

You can be grateful and still hurt. you can love your baby and grieve your birth. you can feel proud and exhausted. All of it belongs.

With all this in conclusion, I honor the scar. The fear I didn’t say out loud, the tears I shed behind hospital curtains, the strength it took to heal four times, and the body that carried me through all of it.

My scar isn’t pretty, it isn’t small. But it tells the truth. It boldly says ” I survived, I gave birth and I became a mother- four times.

If this is your story too, I see you. If your birth didn’t look how you imagined, you’re not alone. If you carry a scar like mine, this day is for you.