From the International Cesarean Network:
The Cesarean Awareness Ribbon debuted in April of 2004 for Cesarean Awareness Month. The burgundy color of the ribbons represents birth and the wearing of the ribbon upside down symbolizes the state of distress many pregnant women find themselves in when their birthing choices are limited. The loop of the inverted ribbon represents a pregnant belly and the tails are the arms of a woman outstretched in a cry for help.
The Mommy-blogs and the parenting boards are all talking about “Cesarean Awareness Month” and I’ve had a few spammy requests to cover it here. Much of the rhetoric follows these lines — “Stop the horrible butchery of innocent mommies! Are you a victim of Cesarean? Post your story!”
So here’s my story.
When I was preparing for Mary, I was easily sold on the idea that natural was the right way to go, that my body knew what it was doing and should be left to do it without paternalistic, corporate Western medicine to victimize me.
So when Mare was born by emergency Caesarian after an induction at 41 weeks, I felt bad about myself.
“Empowered birth” has become a sort of euphemism for a very specific scenario — no drugs, no interventions, the mother a special kind of hero who gutted it out. According to the rhetoric, I had had an unempowered birth — a victim birth, brought on by my impatience, my lack of faith in my body, and a medical system that dehumanized me.
I researched VBAC when I was pregnant with Ren, looking for a “VBAC-friendly” practitioner who would be willing to let me give it a shot, who would help me redeem myself from my first birth. The response was universal — sure you can go for it if you want to. But it’s going to end the same way the last one did.
“My suggestion,” said the third doctor I consulted, “is that you learn to love Caesarians. Because without them, neither you nor your daughter, nor the baby you’re carrying would be here.”
I finally accepted it: it was nothing I did. It was nothing to be ashamed of or blame anyone for. For me, Caesarian was unavoidable. One step up from that — the Caesarian was something to be grateful for. It gave me Motherhood, and it spared my life.
We scheduled Ren’s delivery for ten days before her due date, to ensure there would be no emergency. It was a lovely delivery. Hard going in the surgery itself, pure joy immediately afterward.
This time out, there has never any question that Caesarian is the only option. I am marshalling my support team with a birth plan that includes dealing with the complications I am almost certain to have — problems with anesthesia, and a spinal headache.
“I want to be supported in my choice to push myself as hard as is safe. Remind me to nurse, wake me up if you have to, or put her on if you can’t wake me. Bring me lattes for the headache, and when those don’t work, hold her while I get the spinal patch and then help me nurse lying down while I wait for it to take. Don’t take the baby so I can ‘rest.’ — This will annoy me.”
I’ll never earn the Earth Mother stripe for natural childbirth, but I am about to have three empowered births under my belt. Each one makes me fiercer and clearer about who’s in charge and what I’m willing to do to get my kids home.
If you believe in a woman’s right to choose, a woman’s inherent capacity to know her own body and its limits, then you must also believe in Cesarean-section. Not for everyone, not every time. But in its time and place, it is a life saving — and life-giving — procedure. When you insist that nearly every woman who gives birth by this method is a victim of her doctor and her own impatience you make me suspect that you are actually the one who thinks I can’t think for myself.
I dissuade pregnant women from the idea that Cesareans are “the easy way.” In my experience they are painful, scary, and impersonal. They carry long term health effects. I support every effort to keep women from having them if they don’t absolutely have to.
But I will never support a movement that puts my birth method in the same catagory as terminal illness and domestic violence. I am no victim. And I certainly won’t support rhetoric that paints obstetrics professionals as butchers.
This year I am celebrating Cesarean Awareness Month with the birth of my third child by Cesarean. It is a tribute to the profession and practitioners that granted me what evolution sought to deny: life past the age of 27, and a shot at motherhood. Multiple times.
I have learned to love Cesareans, to accept them as a part of my choice to have a family. I am very proud to be a woman who takes her Cesareans like a champ, who does what she has to do to get the kid home.
Because that’s actually the important part.
