The last week has been gut-wrenching. I’ve cried a lot as I’ve tried to make sense of everything changing as this pregnancy nears its end. It’s been a week blurred by sadness over the loss of my natural birth hopes, anger that this wasn’t caught sooner, and trepidation about adding recovery from major surgery to the first few days of motherhood. Even worse, maybe, is that as that these three emotions tangled with one another for top billing in my head at any given moment, I was simultaneously getting upset with myself — upset for letting this affect me so much, upset for the impact it was having on my final week of pregnancy — a pregnancy that had been almost completely free from this type of emotional stress, and upset that it was clouding the excitement I should be feeling as I think about holding a baby girl in just a few short days.
Only 4% of babies are breech at birth. It all seemed so unfair.
I’ve never viewed pregnancy as just a means to an end; I’ve always thought that pregnancy, labor, and childbirth were three distinct, wonderful phases that I would get the opportunity to experience. I’ve spent the last 15 weeks faithfully preparing for the second stage with hypnobirthing and relaxation, and fear of laboring has never crossed my mind. That said, knowing I had a lengthy, all-consuming process ahead of me has kept my focus on that; those first moments holding baby girl will be beyond expression regardless of any preparation or anticipation, and so I’ve concentrated on the labor part, knowing that childbirth and the moments thereafter would be spectacular regardless. It is infinitely difficult to describe how shocking it is to suddenly eliminate the entire laboring process from my mindset, and zoom ahead instantly to the anticipation of meeting baby girl. And it is disarming to suddenly be scared of that tiny window of time that will come between the pregnancy and the baby, when previously there was nothing to be afraid of. I’m not sure whether there is a way to make peace with the fear itself; major surgery is major surgery, and I’m a crap candidate for all things medical. But I repeat to myself that 1/3 of U.S. births happen this way and that, for some inane reason, a lot of people actually choose to birth this way. And, while I wasn’t necessarily proud of my doctor’s c-section rate before last week happened, it does provide a lot of reassurance now. So I know I’m going to be okay, and I know it’s the very best option for baby girl. But God help me if the anesthesiologist so much as says the word ‘needle’ to me, let alone actually lets me see one…
I don’t have the option of attempting to birth baby girl in the breech position — neither by my OBGYN nor at my hospital. And I thought a lot about whether I would try if I could. The natural birth advocates of the world have entire chapters written on birthing breech babies and the tricks the use — wrapping a towel around the legs and buttocks as they emerge, putting a finger in the baby’s nose until the head descends — to prevent the baby from taking a breath too soon. But I would never be comfortable with a birth that relied on tricks for safety. And while a natural birth might still be best for me, it isn’t best for baby girl anymore, and this is clearly what she has chosen. That, too, has helped me move on from mourning the loss of my natural birth plan.
But above everything else, what I’ve thought most about over the past few days is why this wasn’t caught weeks or months ago. Sure there was a nagging thought in the back of my head that what I kept referring to as the butt was awfully round and seemed to have a mind of its own, but that was why I asked the doctor so many weeks ago. And when she assured me that baby was head down (after all, she said as she pointed out the various baby parts sticking through my stomach, that is how I know exactly where to find the heartbeat), I had no reason to doubt her. And when she told me she could feel the head, it seemed like the go-ahead to bounce on my yoga ball and take long walks. Baby girl was moving down and out! And I feel like it should be further repeated here that I am so relieved we discovered this AT ALL; it would have been so much worse to have labored through this and ended up with an emergency, unplanned c-section. I am not sure I could handle the emotional recovery from that. But what if we’d caught it four weeks ago, when my options were still open for trying to get baby girl to turn? As it is, chiropractors and acupuncturists won’t touch me at more than 38 weeks, and one can only do so many headstands under water or watch TV upside down so many nights before realizing it’s all futile at this stage.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that finding out when I did was the best possible scenario. Baby girl likely would have stayed breech regardless; after all, I had all the underlying conditions — placenta previa, a tilted uterus — that cause this to happen in the first place. And so what would I have accomplished in those four weeks? I would have thrown hundreds of dollars at potential solutions, asking people to tweak my spine and put hot needles into the corner of my baby toe. I would have replaced my nighttime bath and meditation regimen with upside down monkey activities until the blood had completely left my feet. And I would have backpedaled toward these final days, skidding unhappily into a c-section I had tried desperately to avoid for more than a month. Instead of some of the most enjoyable weeks of my pregnancy — feeling great, thinking about what labor would be like, and jumping excitedly at every contraction — those few weeks would have been as stressful and intolerable as the last. And for the slim chance of turning baby girl, something I know in my heart was never likely to happen, I wouldn’t give up those weeks for anything.
And I don’t want to give up this week; it just took a few long days of emotional adjustment to get here. But in just four days — in just 96 hours — we’ll finally get to meet this petite, head-full-of-hair, stubbornly breech girl who has been kicking me and demanding her favorite positions for 20 weeks. I can’t freakin’ wait.
Leave a comment