I’m 22 weeks pregnant with my second child, and my daughter, who is 6, is very excited for the long-awaited baby sibling. It's been a while, and I’d clearly forgotten a lot regarding pregnancy. Namely, I’d forgotten how much it sucks, especially in the first trimester. Right now I’m in that sweet spot where I’m past the nausea, but not so huge that I feel like Violet Beauregard turning into a giant blueberry in Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Another thing I’d forgotten was the whole giving birth thing
But now that the crib has arrived, and the whole “yes, there is going to be a baby” idea is cementing in my mind, I’ve come to realize that I’ll be actually giving birth again.
The mind does a funny thing — it glosses or glazes over traumatic events to some degree to mentally protect you. I barely remember the day I was nearly killed by a tornado. I have some images in my head, but most of the narrative in my memory is based on a journal entry I wrote right after the event.
My daughter’s birth is similar
I remember eating lunch at a restaurant, then going into the ob-gyn for my check-in. I had proteins in my urine, so they ordered a 24-hour urine collection (so great). The next day we delivered the jug, and they ran it through the lab. Before we left, the results came back. I had preeclampsia, and it had advanced to such a state that I needed to be induced to give birth. Like, immediately.
So I went to the hospital, knowing I would be induced in the morning
I was put on a magnesium drip that had the potential to cause seizures, so I was not allowed to eat from the time I was admitted until well after the baby was born. I also did not sleep, as I was stuck on a hospital bed with a catheter in. I had an epidural, but not before I was given the medicine, and that made my contractions astronomically more painful. I barely remember the birth itself, except at one point the pain was so intense that I vomited.
The night after the birth was difficult. My daughter needed to be fed several times but wasn’t latching or getting enough to eat. We supplemented with some formula, but I was not able to get any sleep that night either. Since she was premature, my daughter was jaundiced and had to sit under the bilirubin light.
Is this the most horrifying birth story of all time?
No. And by the way, I don’t want to hear your scary story. Neither does any other expectant person. Keep it to yourself.
Basically, I’m not feeling awesome thinking about my upcoming birth this March. I'm anxious and worrying about a bunch of things that are out of my control. I don’t want to feel the same way I felt giving birth the first time and in the days following. It was utterly exhausting, terribly lonely, and terrifying. Besides that, due to COVID-19, I’m allowed to bring only my husband with me to the hospital, when last time at least I was able to have my mom there with me, which, honestly, was a lot more helpful.
Deep in my heart, I also wonder… will I survive this time?
Yes, our outcomes for births in hospitals are pretty good. I’m lucky that I’m middle income and white, and that I can afford the ob-gyn care up until the birth itself. But some women still die from this.
What it comes down to, I think, is that we fear what we can’t control. When you're giving birth, you're absolutely at the mercy of the people around you — your spouse, doctors, and nurses. You have no way to advocate for yourself or really make much of a difference. You’re just supposed to lie there and pop out a baby. Not only that, there's no way to predict complications like preeclampsia. There's a lot of trust a birthing person has to place in the world around them, and this time, based on my past experience, I’m having a hard time with that trust.
