C-section

Reading an article on Caesarean surgeries today brought me to reminisce the one I went through last May to bring our daughter into the world.

We weren't expecting one. I had been trained, by virtue of my education and peer influence, to think highly of natural births....so much so that I vowed that I would deliver all my kids via natural births and unmedicated ones too, regardless of how much pain they would cause. And so, when one particular (rather cynical) friend of mine, being aware of how low my pain-tolerance really is (if any), suggested that I should perhaps consider delivering via the "unnatural" method, I was more than reluctant and scornful of the idea. Of course, one can never imagine the amount of pain a woman's body was made to bear - and so, when I finally came to experience labour for myself, my first reaction to it was.... "GIVE ME AN @#$%$#@ EPIDURAL!!!!!"

Past that embarrassing "revelation" of how pain-intolerant I am, I received the epidural I demanded for the minute I was 4cm dilated. By that time, I was already in so much distress that I supposed that I would die in the process of giving birth. If it wasn't Murphy's Law that night, I don't know what it was. My epidural catheter dispenser system was faulty - and much of the drug I was supposed to receive drained into the mattress I was dying on. We only discovered it later, while I complained about the escalating pain. It took our anaesthetist a long time (felt like eternity to me) to return to the labour room in order to rectify the problem, so I suffered quite a bit. Breathing in nitrous oxide did nothing to help. Epidural problem rectified, I was faced with yet another problem later when my cervix, being as strong-willed as I usually am, refused to dilate any further at 8cm. As Sophie's fetal heart rate pattern was non-reassuring, my obstetrician advised an emergency C-section to rescue her. In the midst of all the drama, the very thought that crossed my mind was this: "I should have opted for a C-section in the first place." *facepalm*

C-section was performed - and thankfully, the recovery took much shorter than I had expected. By day 3 post-op, I walked out of the hospital with no assistance, cradling Sophie in my arms. When the first month came to an end, I had pretty much recovered from the surgery.

Except for the scar, etched permanently into my bikini-line like a historical monument of some sort. I never thought that I would appreciate its presence; I used to feel sorry for my mom whenever I saw her scar (because she delivered us via Caesarean surgeries too). However, I have grown to like it there. I am proud of it, in fact.

Today, the scar serves as a reminder of that beautiful morning when Sophie passed from the only world she had known for 9 blissful months into our world. It was through the wound, light entered my womb, the world received her arrival and God, her Maker, was glorified by her life. A life according to His purpose, no doubt. The scar reminds me of how blessed I was to have carried Sophie in me and how beautiful she made me feel. It shows me where I have been, proves that I can be strong when I need to be, and tells me to persevere when I struggle through the rough patches. An imperfection it is, but a perfect scar no less.

I know I'm supposed to advocate natural birth ~ but if you ask me, I think C-section is the way to go, at least for me. Haha.