My Second Birth
I am mother to two precious little children. I have much to be thankful for—thankful beyond measure. How perfect, divine even, that my baby boy’s first birthday should fall on this Thanksgiving Day. After the devastating birth of my daughter the year before, I trusted the Lord that my son’s birth would be different. We planned an hbac (home birth after cesarean). I never, not for one second, had any fear that my uterus would rupture or that my vbac would in any way be unsuccessful. I trusted the Lord so completely that I did not even pack a bag for the hospital “just in case” I should need it. I trusted my Lord.
My labor was not what you see on television. I was not in a public place, with amniotic fluid soaking the floor around me, clutching my stomach and doubled over in pain. I was sleeping comfortably in my bed and I very gently, very slowly, became uncomfortable. At the worst part of my labor, I would only describe the feelings as intense. Truth be told, I was so overwhelmingly grateful to be given the privilege of laboring and that I, in turn, was giving my son the gift of birth.
After many hours—more than 40—we made the decision to transfer to the hospital. I did not make this decision lightly. My faith at this point was severely shaken, because everyone knew that I was going to the hospital to have a repeat c-section. I was a mother with an “unproven” pelvis, who had been in labor for more than 40 hours who also had a previous c-section. I thought, “where are you Lord?”
…and you know what? I gave up. On that drive to the hospital that I never dreamed I’d be making, I resigned myself to the knife that was awaiting my abdomen at the hospital.
At the hospital, all “signs” pointed to a c-section. We had to enter the hospital by walking under that huge, red emergency sign. Upstairs on the labor and delivery hall I went straight to the room marked “recovery”, where they take women after their cesareans. There, I was immediately prepped for the c-section. I signed the forms stating that I understood the risks of c-sections (death of mother or baby, hemorrhage, hysterectomy, infection, etc).
Then, a miracle. The doctor came into that room, examined me, and he gave me a choice. He said, “well, you can push this baby out or we can go ahead with the cesarean”. Honestly, I was mad. I had given up. I wanted nothing more at that point than to lay on that cold steel table and let the doctor do all the work for me. How dare he give me the choice? Didn’t he know that I couldn’t push my baby out? No, I gave control of this birth to the doctor and what does he do but give the choice right back to me.
Yet even when I had given up on the Lord, He had not given up on me. As badly as I just wanted this birth to be over, as badly as I wanted to hear the words, “I want a c-section” come out of my mouth, that’s not what happened. Instead I heard myself saying, “okay, I’ll push him out”. The Lord knew that the section wasn’t what I wanted and it wasn’t what He wanted for me or my baby. So at 11:27 the night before Thanksgiving, only by the grace of the living God in Heaven, I pushed my son into this world.
