I found out I was pregnant the 2nd week of March after only two months of trying -- my husband Craig and I felt like we’d hit the jackpot! A few days after I got the good news, COVID shut-downs and travel restrictions began going into effect where I live in Vancouver, BC. Little did I know that I would end up having a 'pandemic pregnancy’ and that none of my family members would see me in person during my pregnancy since I live in Canada and they do not. I’d had plans to travel to Hong Kong in the spring to see my sister’s family and to my parents’ home in Delaware during the summer to have a baby shower with local friends and family there. Neither of these trips ended up happening; in this surreal year I feel lucky for the health and safety of myself and my baby but missing my family has been a true source of sadness. But in lieu of physical closeness and in-person visits, we’ve had plenty of family FaceTime calls and we even had two separate zoom baby showers complete with goofy trivia games, which turned out to be just as fun as an in person shower (just minus the mimosas and party nosh). Being a relative newcomer to Vancouver without a network of family here, I was worried that I’d feel isolated and scared throughout my pregnancy and daunted by the idea of starting a family without a family safety net. Luckily, our maternity clinic offered group prenatal classes that have helped provide community support; I also found a great community at the synagogue where I work. Without these two local groups I’m sure I’d have felt much more alone during this bizarre year!
My pregnancy overall was luckily healthy and comfortable despite the worries of the global pandemic; in my first trimester I didn’t experience morning sickness only an aversion to the smell of cooked asparagus and a desire to eat mostly saltines, mashed potatoes and cinnamon sugar toast. In my second trimester, my husband and I moved to a new house and underwent a month of spruce-up projects; I had enough energy and gusto to DIY, paint and decorate to my heart's content throughout the month of July. Throughout my pregnancy, I enjoyed the rituals Craig and I created together: taking daily walks around the neighborhood and going for hikes at local parks, picking out songs to sing to my belly so the baby would recognize them out of the womb; reading pregnancy books and recapping the most interesting factoids to one another (such as the existence of “couvade”, which we were sure was causing Craig to “eat for two” much more than me). I also had my own personal rituals: long evening baths with a candle and relaxing music; listening to hypnobirthing tracks; creating a special playlist and singing to my baby on the car ride to and from work; bouncing on my yoga ball; laying down on the couch and rubbing my belly with massage oil to try and feel the baby’s kicks more acutely (since my anterior placenta in general made her movements more muffled).
I discovered the Positive Birth Company during my 28th week and was immediately drawn to the ideology and practical tips it offered. I’d already read several books about natural labor such as Ina May’s Spiritual Midwifery and had heard of hypnobirthing but it didn’t really sink in that the peaceful, positive, calm and intervention-free vaginal birth I hoped for was possibly unless I decided to up and move to a rural hippy commune. I loved watching birth stories online, and thanks to the wonders of Youtube’s algorithm, I stumbled upon the PBC Youtube account, then bought the digital pack and joined the facebook community. My husband and I watched the course together; we enjoyed practicing the relaxation techniques and joked about the necessary “NSFW” ('nipple stimulation for womb') that could be needed to get things going; we also laughed imaging what my animalistic “moo phase” would sound like since I’m generally a quiet and soft-spoken person. I have a high tolerance for pain, so I imagined my ideal birth as going through early labor at home with my husband, then going to the hospital to push aided by my doula and midwife, all unmedicated, peaceful and positive. I downloaded the Freya app and spent the last two months listening to positive affirmations and relaxation meditations daily; this girded me for what was to come since although I ultimately ended up needing a caesarian section, my pregnancy and birth was shaped by what I learned through the PBC and I am thankful to have found it.
At my 32 week growth ultrasound we discovered that the baby was transverse. This wasn’t entirely surprising based on where I’d mostly felt her kicks and from my occasional side cramps while walking. But there was still plenty of time for her to turn! No worries! For the next month I tried every trick in the book to get her to turn: acupuncture once a week, daily moxibustion for 20 min a day (resulting in scorched pinky toes on more than one occasion), bi-weekly chiropractor appointments, daily walking for 45 min to an hour, the “Miles Circuit”, sitting for meals with the chair turned backwards and belly leaning forward, hip rolls and bouncing on my birth ball (while watching an ep of Schitt's Creek each night - makes the bouncing time go faster!), the “spinning babies” inversions off the couch 3 times a day, supported child's pose 20 min a day, listening to a breech baby hypnotherapy track and telling baby gently but firmly that tik-tok it was time to turn, even vacuuming the living room with a dust-buster on hands and knees. As a last ditch effort, the night before my 36 week appointment, my husband and I had a dance party in the kitchen to songs that are thematically about turning, spinning or getting down (which was undoubtedly the most fun of all the turning attempts!).
I got to the appointment and was awarded for my efforts: she was head down! Yesss! I was thrilled. We decided to have weekly appointments for the duration of my pregnancy to double check her positioning. Week 37: still head down. I was feeling sure that she would stay down and that week I packed my hospital bag with all my hypnobirthing items: electric tea lights, bluetooth speaker and relaxing playlist, massage balls, roll-on essential oil. We also had a nice long FaceTime call with our doula where I laid out my hope to have a vaginal birth with only gas and air and minimal medical intervention if possible. I was calm and ready to undertake the birth I’d been envisioning.
At my week 38+6 I was scheduled to have a stretch and sweep at my maternity clinic to get things going. But using the handheld ultrasound machine, the midwife discovered she was transverse again! I felt the heart-sinking realization that things were probably going to be taking a turn away from what I’d imagined. We ended up going into the hospital after that appointment, where I hoped they’d schedule me in for an ECV right away. The baby’s position was confirmed via ultrasound, my cervix was checked (clam-shell closed) but then we were sent home after only an hour or so and told to check back in a few days...but if I felt any signs of labor or my water broke to call an ambulance so as not to risk cord prolapse. (I’m not sure why they didn’t try an ECV right then, but one of the nurses mentioned that the doctor who was their star at spinning babies was retiring that day so I have a feeling that could have been why). I still held out hope that an ECV would do the trick in a few days’ time and spent that weekend trying to relax and stay calm; I also redoubled all my previous turning efforts to get the baby to shimmy her way back down.
At 39+4, I had a follow up visit with my clinic’s obstetrician to check the position. But instead of head down, the baby was now in breech. The doctor thought she was snuggly in place now and an ECV would be very unlikely to be successful at this late date. It was her recommendation that I schedule a c-section for as soon as there was an opening at the hospital. We filled out the hospital paperwork right then in her office. I started crying underneath my N95 mask and the ob squeezed my hand and told me it was for the best. I was told to leave my phone on and close by for the next few days as the hospital’s elective c-sections were already booked and I’d be put in on the waitlist. I left the clinic, got in my car and sobbed. I got home, told my husband, and then spent the next few hours in bed sobbing. I was surprised by the level of grief I felt. Part of me couldn’t help but think I’d failed in some way. The empowered birth-goddess I’d wanted to become was instead deflated and heartbroken and very snotty. I was surprised by my level of grief; it came over me in a rush that I wasn't quite prepared for. Because even though part of my brain knew that a c-section was the best and safest course of action there was apparently another dormant part of my brain that was inconsolable and didn't want to listen to reason.
I spent the next few days getting a handle on my feelings and trying to actively readjust my attitude. I combed through countless stories on the PBC facebook group about positive c-sections and breech births. I also read the book of essays called My Caesarian, which although not all positive, includes many heart-rendering, poetic and beautiful essays on various women’s experiences with this course of birth. After a few days full of tears, I eventually felt at peace with what needed to happen.
Funnily enough my sister had the exact same experience of having a baby with an unstable lie resulting in a c-section as I did. She reassured me that the surgery itself wasn’t scary or unsafe (though it’s a bit weird to be awake and feel some vague tuggings around all the inside-parts you can’t see 'on the other side of the curtain'). She commiserated with me about the disappointment I was feeling but said looking back it ultimately doesn’t matter how the baby gets here as long as they do safe and sound. And as she’d had difficulty with breastfeeding after her c-section, she gave me all her advice to try to get breastfeeding off to a smooth start.
Two days after my appointment I was out for a walk in the park when I got a call from the hospital letting me know the surgery was scheduled for two days’ time on Monday, Nov 23 at 11am (my 40+2 date). The nurse on the phone was brisk and no-nonsense as she went over COVID protocols and I imagined most of the hospital staff would be like her: clerical and cold. She luckily turned out to not be the norm, and the hospital staff was all extremely kind and caring. Oddly enough, driving back from the park to our house, my car did something it had never done before: it stalled between gears 2 and 3 and wouldn’t go over 25mph. The problem then mysteriously went away the next time I started the car. This resulted in several frantic trips to the car repair shops over the next hours and days, since I really didn’t want to get stalled out on our way to the hospital. Part of me couldn’t help but look at the car problems as a metaphor for what was happening: you may think you are driving smoothly along one path until life serves you an unexpected twist of fate. It’s up to you to adjust and make new plans without letting the problems derail you entirely.
I knew it was a long shot, but for the last few days before the surgery I still tried the inversion techniques just in case the baby could be persuaded for a last-ditch turn. My friend’s baby had been breech up until her scheduled c-section but was head down that morning, allowing her to be induced. The impossible could happen! But I also rewatched the PBC c-section video, told our doula she would most likely not be needed and repacked my hospital bag with the expectation that a vaginal delivery would not be happening. A silver lining was that I was able to pick the music that would play in the operating room, so I picked out the most soothing music I know - the group Beautiful Chorus - and spent as much time as I could that weekend getting into a positive mindset.
The morning of the surgery was drizzly and gray, as is the norm in Vancouver. Packing our suitcases into the car at 8am felt like we were getting ready for an early trip to the airport. Craig and I had joked beforehand that the drive to the hospital would be frantic with me mid-labor and him not knowing the way there, so we’d practiced our route several times in advance. Instead, we listened to my relaxing labor playlist and had an entirely drama-free 17 minute ride.
In the waiting room before being admitted to pre-op, Craig and I made a little video for our baby saying how excited we were to meet her. I cried, not the only time I would that day, but the tears weren’t the same as a few days before.
The pre-op nurse was the same somewhat terse one who I’d spoken to on the phone about COVID. I’d accidentally drank water past the 8am cut-off and she wasn’t pleased about it. I felt a bit like a school child being scolded and told to sit on the wall at recess. I peed several times in the pre-op bathroom in penance. We went through lots of logistics: things like IVs and catheters and shaved pubic hair and blood pressure and signing forms. Teams came in to chat: the nurses, the anaesthesiologists, my ob Astrid from the maternity clinic who would be performing the surgery. She did an ultrasound to check on the baby’s position one last time. Still breech. No last minute miracle. It was ok, though. Craig was by my side and held my hand. Once the logistics were done, and Craig had gotten into his scrubs, we had some time by ourselves in our curtained off area to be with each other for the last time as just a couple. We sang the songs we’d sung to our baby in the womb: Eight Days a Week, This Will Be Our Year and I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.
The time came to go into the operating room; Craig would soon follow once I’d gotten my spinal done. The room was bright and buzzing with about 10 different people, all with important jobs to do. A nurse got my requested music queued up on Youtube and I felt grateful the moment the familiar songs started. Another ob from the clinic named Kiran was there and she told me she’d be happy to take pictures for us with Craig’s phone. With the music as my anchor, I started doing count of eight up-breathing and did so throughout the whole surgery. My ob held my hand while my spinal was being administered and breathed with me. She told me I was doing a fantastic job. I was laid down in the t-pose. Craig was allowed in; we held hands, locked eyes and breathed together for the rest of the time until the baby was brought out of me into this world.
A few days before on twitter I’d seen a short video from a surgeon/mom account of a playdough caesarian being performed; the baby that emerges is a Spiderman stuffy but besides that, it gave me a more clear idea of what the actual operation would be like more than anything I’d seen before since actual surgery videos and photos make me extremely squeamish. This playdough visual was oddly comforting and I found that during the surgery itself I wasn’t as freaked out as I thought I would be. The whole experience was grounded in love. The image of my daughter being raised up above the blue curtain will forever be etched in my mind as one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
After she was delivered, she needed some oxygen so they brought her to a side table and put a video monitor above me so I could watch her. My husband went over to the table and held her hand as the nurses “pinked her up” and got her going. Looking up at the screen, seeing her for the firs time, I thought: well, there you are. There’s my little one. They soon placed her on my chest for our first skin to skin. Craig and I sang to her and a kind doctor took our picture as they stitched me back up on the other side of the curtain. Soon I was wheeled into post-op for more skin to skin and our first chance to breastfeed. Not feeling half of my body during all this was very odd, but I didn’t let it hinder the beauty of these first moments together.
Luckily, my recovery over the past month has been smooth and I’m very grateful for all the excellent care I received at the hospital and post-partum through my maternity clinic. Though I thought I’d cultivated an open-minded attitude that “all births are natural births”, when the time came for me to accept that I’d need a c-section I realized I still held onto the unconscious bias that a vaginal birth was the “right one for me”. I’d hoped a vaginal birth would serve as my powerful initiation into motherhood: something I’d earn through hard work, sweat, tears and love; something my baby and I worked through together as our first act of bonding; an achievement I’d earn through an active role. Now, almost a month after my c-section, this bias still creeps up on me occasionally in the form of a fleeting sense of disappointment and feeling of loss about what could have been. When this happens, I look at my beautiful daughter and shake away that ghost of could have/should have and am thankful that she’s here now in my arms.
