My little boy was born a little over a month ago...6 weeks premature, and it was of course the hospital birth I never, ever wanted to have with him. I've spent the last month waiting each day to feel emotionally ready to write my birth story, and the more time passes the more of an emotional wreck I become. I feel like my body failed me, and I feel like I need to come to terms with the fact I may never get my homebirth, as my body just says enough as soon as I hit 34 weeks and labor begins. My daughter was born at 34 weeks as well. I just don't know what to do to feel better about this. I keep talking to friends, my mom, other people just trying to process these emotions. I am very happy that nothing more serious happened, leading to a c-section or anything and I'm happy with myself for fighting my doctor every step of the way to protect Rowan. But, it's still hard to process it all.
I'm just so damn angry with everything.
I'm angry that my midwife didn't listen to my concerns of an early baby the first times I brought it up. I'm angry that the herbs I took when I'd contract, the giant cal-mag horse-pills I choked down each day, the ridiculous amounts of water I drank...everything she said to do, none of it worked. Nothing I did worked to slow my contractions or hold my child in. I'm angry with her for being so cold with me and not hearing my concerns when I called her that Sunday, nearly in tears as I knew in my heart I was losing it all. I'm angry at her for being so heartless when I was in labor at the hospital. I'm so angry that that women is what my first experience with a midwife was. Where was the version of her that everyone recommended with the highest regards??
I'm angry at the on-call doctor I was stuck with. I'm angry at her for every single dead-baby card she threw, her ridiculous and exaggerated threats of what would happen, for every single demeaning thing she said to me. I am so angry at that woman! I'm not even mad just for myself. At least I had the courage, strength and knowledge to fight for my child and to tell her no and know that what she was saying was a lie. What about the other women?? What about the other women who aren't like myself, the ones that she destroyed their perfect births? The ones who end up sectioned or worse, with the scar to remind them of their "failed" births. The birth of her client's baby is just one day out of her life, but the memory of that baby's birth will forever be in their mother's memories, for them to think back on, to process, to wonder what could have been different. Does this women not realize that she is shaping other people's futures? I am so angry! I can't even begin to process it. I want to write her a letter but the emotions about her are so raw it would be nothing but a screaming rant, certainly not the image I want to paint for her.
I'm angry at my body for going into labor early, angry at my uterus for not stopping the contractions, for not holding in my baby better. Why?!?! WHY does it do that? WHY can't I stop it? WHY WHY WHY?? My peaceful, calm, natural homebirth is what I've dreamt of for years...scooping my own child up, strait from my womb into my arms. Nursing my new baby, holding him, snuggling him, kissing him...laying in my own bed admiring the new life I had just brought into the world. I spent every single day dreaming of my homebirth, carefully planning, reading, gathering for it. And just like that, it was all gone.
I feel I need to come to terms with the fact I may never get that......My babies will probably always be early, spending their last hours in my womb with ultrasound waves pounding through them, with their mother starving....then born into panicked chaos. No nursing, no first moment snuggles. Nothing like the dream I have for my births.
Instead, both of my children have been flung from inside their mothers onto warming beds with lights so bright they can barely open their eyes. Tubes shoved down their throats, tubes into their noses, and needle pricks to the heels. Monitors all over, constant beeping. All before I even get to say, "Welcome to the world, I'm your mommy.' My son sat in his isolette crying for food, rooting for my breast that wasn't allowed to be there. When I was finally able to hold him he rooted and rooted and rooted, crying in sadness when I would have to adjust him just as he was getting close to my breast. It brought tears to my eyes and broke my heart everytime. I wanted nothing more then to run out the NICU doors with him in my arms, to hide away somewhere and nurse him and hold him close to me. I hated pumping in my room, crying for my son, alone, while my son was alone in his isolette, crying for me. I hated having to ask when he ate last, or how many dirty diapers he had. I hated not doing every second of care for my precious newborn. I hated having to ask a nurse if I could hold my own child, and being told I had a time limit. I hated having to put him back into his isolette when I started to fall asleep, only to then return to my room to stare at the ceiling because I couldn't fall asleep anymore, now that I was separated from him.
How do I come to terms that this may be what the first days of motherhood are like for me? How do I let go of my dreams?
