Traumatic Childbirth and PPD

I read this blog post today and can totally relate.  I was going to leave a comment, but then I realized I just had too much to write about...

Both my birth experiences would be considered "traumatic".  When I was pregnant with my first, I had these dreams of having a beautiful, natural birth with no interventions.  But, two weeks after my due date, my daughter showed no signs of coming anytime soon and I was miserable.  My doctor agreed to induce, though it was a hard decision for me to come by.  I know it's best to let baby come when baby is ready, but it ended up being a really good thing I was induced.

We arrived at the hospital around 8 am and the induction began by 9 am.  Around noon, I was barely progressing, so my doctor tried one more pill and, when that worked just a little bit, she finally broke my water.  Sometime in the afternoon (because the details are so fuzzy to me now), I began to have the worst back labor.  I was in so much pain, doubled over, sobbing through every contraction.  My husband and mom were amazing coaches.  They said that at any time I could ask for an epidural, but they knew it was my decision.  I so did NOT want to say I needed it, because I felt like I was already failing as a mom if I asked for help.  And, I so desperately wanted a natural birth.

When the nurse checked me and I was still only at 5 cm, I sobbed even harder and finally agreed to an epidural.  My husband and mom reassured me that I was not a failure, but I still felt miserable.  Thankfully, the epidural allowed me to rest a little and took away the horrible back labor.

But, not long after I fell asleep, I woke up shaking uncontrollably.  No matter how many blankets my mom gave me, I couldn't seem to warm up.  I started shaking and my teeth were chattering so badly, but I couldn't stop it.  My mom called the nurse back in and they were surprised to find my temperature had sky rocketed to 105.  They gave me some tylenol, undressed me completely (and at that point I did not care one bit), and covered me in wet towels.  The nurse checked me again and I was finally complete.

When my daughter finally arrived, she was covered in meconium and not breathing very well.  They immediately rushed her to the nursery and gave her oxygen.  I only caught a glimpse of her before they wheeled her away and I was heartbroken at not having the chance to hold my just born baby girl.  It wasn't until a couple hours later that I finally got to hold her, but it didn't last long enough.  Before long, the pediatrician came in the room, noticed her breathing was still labored and rushed her back to the nursery.

It was thought at first that she had pneumonia, so we prepared to have her on antibiotics for a week in the hospital.  I would be able to stay in a room with her too.  When I went to hold her again in the nursery, the nurses quickly told me I had to leave, because she would get too worked up and they forbid me to nurse her.  I was so overwhelmed and exhausted, I didn't even fight for what I knew was right for her.  I know now that I could have nursed her to calm her down, but the nurses were so frightened at how sick she was.

The next time we went into the nursery to visit her, she wasn't in the isolette we had last seen her in.  I turned around to see her pediatrician and a nurse hovering over her on a warming table...and in the next moment they told me she was having seizures.  As the pediatrician explained that she was to be transferred to a nearby hospital with a NICU, I witnessed my brand new baby girl having a seizure.  I had to leave before the gut wrenching sobs began.  That night I cried myself to sleep as my husband rocked me to sleep and my mom rubbed my back reassuring me it would be okay.  I still cry thinking about it.

We didn't get to bring our firstborn home until she was almost two weeks old.  The time she spent in the NICU was a time I wished never to experience again...but when my second born, our first son, decided to arrive 2 1/2 weeks early, with premature lungs, we faced the same nightmare again.  My labor was even longer and more frustrating, because I was sent home twice in the same night.  I had been awake for almost two days straight by the time he was born, after finally asking for another epidural to get me to 10 cm.  I was blessed to be able to hold him on my chest...but minutes later the doctors whisked him away too before I even had a chance to nurse him.

When his breathing didn't improve, they decided to transfer him to the same NICU hospital our daughter spent her first two weeks at.  I remember the heartbreak I felt at realizing another birth experience had gone horribly wrong.  I had wanted so desperately to finally have a beautiful, natural birth, but felt like I had been robbed of it once again.

It has taken me a long time to work through the emotional toll these experiences had on me.  I wondered what I did wrong to endure not one, but two traumatic birth experiences and I was so jealous of all my mommy friends and their beautiful birth stories.  Friends would ask me, "you know when they lay your newborn baby on your chest...and they latch on for the first time, enjoying mommy's milk?" or "you know how you get to spend the first few days rooming in with your newborn baby, under the careful and loving care of the nurses?" and I would feel that same heartache all over again. 

The day I finally admitted I needed help and reached out to my doctor, she brought up my birth experiences and said that if anyone was going to experience postpartum depression and anxiety, it would be me.  She looked me in the eye and said it was okay, that I would be okay.  She acknowledged my pain and heartbreak and listened to me sob it all out.  My counselor helped me continue the healing process, by helping me journal through the pain of these experiences, walking me carefully through the emotions, and allowing me to grieve for what could have been.  

I think I've finally come to a place where I can accept that what happened was not my fault or that I was being punished in some way.  I know that God has used it to bring my husband and I closer to each other and to Him.  But, every so often, the pain and emotion of it all comes back.  I can joke about the drama of my experiences, but there's always a part of me that still feels that pain and longing.  I wonder if I will ever experience the beautiful, natural labor I so desired, or if God just had different plans for me all along.  Either way, these two sweet children smiling and giggling and calling me momma were worth it all.  They are the blessing in the midst of such a difficult experience.