I’ve never blogged about my birth story before.
I journaled about it at the time, and I’ve posted bits and pieces of the story since on Instagram and Facebook.
But not until now have I sat down to write the entire story of our marvelous, magnificent baby girl’s iconic missed turn at Albuquerque resulting in an unplanned C-section after 30 hours of natural labor.
E and I took 12 weeks of Bradley Method natural childbirth classes. We studied home birth and knew we wanted minimal interference with nature’s amazing process.
We hired a birth doula. I had a healthy pregnancy, felt great all along, and rested and ate well. We saw midwives, not an OB/GYN, for our prenatal care.
We were ready to let nature take its course, let baby girl take her time and welcome her with an amazing natural birth. I intentionally stopped working the week before my due date so that I could rest and nest at home. Our due date came and went. We walked, I stretched and we tried natural methods to encourage her to make her exit.
A week after her due date, on the morning of March 14, fifteen years ago today, I finally felt real contractions. I labored at home in our room all day and night, mostly in our bed and a little in a warm bath and shower. We had our wonderful birth doula with us through the night, giving me massages, pep talks and support. Our beloved dog, Jack, never left my side.
E coached me, massaged me and made me PB&J sandwiches (I promptly and unexpectedly threw one back up, right in our bed, when the contractions became super intense). We listened to music and Hypnobabies CDs. I felt strong, prepared and ready.
But when morning dawned the next day, our doula (who was also a midwife) checked me and said I was still at only about 3 cm and that labor wasn’t progressing. She suggested stripping my membranes, which we had hoped to avoid, but we reluctantly agreed to it.
The labor pains became sharper and uglier after that. We had a doctor’s appointment that morning for an ultrasound and to get checked again. My best friend arrived to photograph and video our magical birth. My mom was due to hop on a plane from LA as soon as we knew the baby was definitely coming.
At my ultrasound, I met the doctor for the first time. He shared that our baby was healthy, big and had plenty of amniotic fluid – but also that she had turned to breech. At prior appointments, Zoe was head-down, but somehow, she wriggled herself into the worst possible position at the last minute. Instead of swimming down, she swam up (we now know this is typical for our girl, who does things her own way always!)
When the doctor told me we had to have a C-section right away, I was shocked. It was a worst-case scenario and something we had never planned for or imagined. I choked back tears and we called both sets of parents to tell them they’d have their new grandbaby later that day. My mom got on the next flight from LA to Columbus.
Looking back, we probably should have anticipated the possibility because E and I were both C-section babies ourselves back in the ’70s. But we didn’t want to imagine that it could happen to us after months of focus on a natural birth!
By the time we went to the hospital to have Zoe midday on the 15th of March, I had labored for 30 hours with no medication of any kind. I was exhausted and ready for that epidural – and more than ready to hold our baby at last! I quickly processed through my sad feelings about not getting the natural birth I had hoped, planned and prepared for. I focused all my energy on getting through the surgery and meeting our healthy, beautiful baby girl.
The procedure itself happened so quickly. The epidural, getting wheeled into the OR and being strapped to a table felt surreal and almost nightmare-like, but I stayed focused: in minutes, I was going to meet and hold our baby girl! I remember shivering and my teeth chattering during the procedure – they said it was a reaction to the drugs, but to me it felt like a trauma response. The trauma to a woman’s body during a C-section is unbelievable; not only is it major surgery, but it is performed very quickly and somewhat violently, all while you are awake.
I’m so grateful that E was able to be there with me in the OR. He couldn’t hold my hand or touch me, but he said comforting words and took photos for me. I wasn’t able to look at the photos for more than a year after her birth, and at first I could only stand to look at them in black and white. Now, 15 years past the trauma of that unexpected surgery, I can look at the images in full color and marvel at the way she came into the world: awake and wise and aware.
Birth is always messy and somewhat traumatic for the mom, no matter how it happens. Even though labor and vaginal birth are hard work, they are generally easier on a woman’s body than a cesarean. Recovery after vaginal birth is usually shorter and less painful than after the major surgery that is a C-section. C-section mamas are truly badass warriors.
That said, I would have gone through all that and more for our baby girl. It all felt possible, knowing that I would get to hold her at the end of it. She was worth any amount of surgery, medical torture, lack of sleep, 30 hours of unmedicated labor and all the rest.
As soon as I saw her face, looked into her eyes, smelled her head, felt her soft skin and held her sweet little body on my chest, the rest was forgotten! I was madly in love. I remember thinking that I would do it all again 1000 times for her; I would gladly give my life for her.
My C-section had another happy twist. Most women are closed back up with surgical staples after a C-section, but because I have lower stomach tattoos and the surgeon was a tattoo fan, my incision was carefully placed and then hand-closed with tiny stitches instead of the usual quick staple job. I remember the OR nurses complaining about how long it was taking, and questioning why the doctor had chosen to do it that way. I certainly appreciated his commitment to keep my art intact!
The three days we spent at the hospital while I recovered from surgery were a blur of learning how to nurse and pump around the clock to get my milk supply up. Since I hadn’t gotten the natural birth I wanted, I was determined to be a breastfeeding superstar; that became my single-minded obsession. I nursed and pumped every two to three hours like clockwork, all day and all night. It was grueling at times – especially while still recovering from massively major abdominal surgery – but I never gave Z formula, nor did I take my prescribed pain pills which would have necessitated me dumping pumped milk.
While at the hospital, E and I took turns holding Zoe nonstop and did not allow her to be taken to the nursery. Anytime the nurses came to grab Zoe for any reason, E went along – we were never separated from her, even at night. My bestie left, my mom arrived and we always felt loved and supported during that time.
I don’t remember much pain in the hospital, and I know that I was standing and holding Zoe the day after surgery. I showered as quickly as possible after surgery and spent as much time sitting up in the chair as possible. I didn’t want to be in a hospital bed – I wanted to be at home nursing my baby with our dog Jack by my side.
When we all went home – E, Zoe, my mom and I – I continued to obsess over nursing and pumping. It didn’t go well at first and I ended up with post-partum depression – I remember all-too clearly the feelings of despair. Was I going to fail at nursing, too? To shore up my chances of success, I pumped and nursed around the clock (every two to three hours) for about the first six months. That’s right, I would wake up in the middle of the night, nurse Z and then put her back to bed and go to the kitchen to pump for her.
Gradually, after half a year of that (even after going back to work at 12 weeks!), I dropped back to pumping only when I was away from her at work. When Z was 18 months old, I finally hung up the horns and stopped pumping for good. That day felt like true freedom.
At that time, I figured either my milk supply was established enough to handle it, or if my supply dried up she was old enough to handle moving onto solid foods exclusively. Wouldn’t you know it, the human body is amazing and I continued to have plenty of milk on tap for Z at night and on weekends; during the weekdays when I was at work, as far as I could tell, my body made no milk. Is that incredible or what?!
In all, we nursed for a month shy of four years – most likely because I was determined to get at least ONE part of mothering right after feeling I had “failed” her by having a C-section birth.
Of course, looking back, I know that my C-section was not a failure – and it certainly wasn’t my fault. Could I have pushed out a large, big-headed, full-term baby the natural, unmedicated way? My own mother did it and I’m sure I could have – but the American medical establishment in 2025 leans heavily on C-sections for breech births and mothers of advanced maternal age. Being both, I had no choice but to have the surgery. I certainly was not going to risk Zoe’s life or my own by trying to go it alone at home.
I have zero regrets. I more than made up for that C-section birth with my valiant and indefatigable four years of breastfeeding! The child is essentially superhuman now and practically immortal. I healed well from surgery. I have a “C-shelf” tummy that I am proud of – and my scar is practically invisible thanks to that tattoo-loving surgeon.
If you’re planning a C-section because you think it will be easier, you might want to think again. But if you end up having to get a C-section because your baby is bad with directions like mine was? Have no fear, mama: you’re a warrior and you’ll be just fine.
