TOLAC

     Trial of Labor After Caesarian.  That’s what the pregnancy specialists are calling me:  a TOLAC.  I met with the OB/GYN who performed my surgery this week.  My midwife clinic requires that I see an OB twice during my pregnancy.  Once at 16 weeks and again at 36.  I had a lot of anxiety going in for this TOLAC consult.  I didn’t like this woman the first two times I met her.  She was pushy and had no empathy.  I fully expected her to tell me that I should have another C-Section.  But surprisingly, she didn’t.  Rather, she offered that I was a perfect candidate for a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarian).  At the time, I wasn’t convinced.  I was having moderate round ligament and adhesion pain that day.  Since then, though, her support has given me renewed confidence.   I might actually be able to pull this off. 

     Some of you may not know, but labor and delivery for my first born was lengthy and difficult.  Hard labor began on a Friday evening and ended the following Sunday afternoon via surgery.  Like all progressive women, I wanted my birthing process to be drug-free.  The amount of propaganda directed to pregnant women about how important it is to deliver naturally is overwhelming and I bought into it completely.  This, I believe, was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made in my life.    

     Daughter was nearly two weeks overdue, but I resisted getting an induction because I wanted a natural birth.   This was probably my first mistake.  Since Pitocin (an intravenous, labor induction drug) was lurking a couple days away, I decided to take matters into my own hands and attempt self-induction.  With castor oil.   This was probably my second mistake.   

     The castor oil seemed to work because I found myself in labor, but I’m not convinced my body was ready for it.  I labored at home all Friday night.  We went into the hospital the following morning.  I labored all day Saturday without any drugs, wandering the halls of Methodist Hospital.  It wasn’t until about 9 on Saturday night when the midwife checked me and said I had not progressed at all the entire day.  I’d checked into the hospital at 4 centimeters.  By Saturday night, after significantly longer, and more intensely painful contractions, I was still 4 centimeters.  This news was devastating.  That was the point at which I gave up.  I asked for an epidural and while they were administering it, Chris watched fireworks outside of the hospital windows.  It was the Fourth of July. 

     I rested all night with the comfort of the drugs.  By late morning, I’d progressed to 7 centimeters, but that’s as far as I would ever get.  My body shut down after that.  My midwife recommended a Caesarian.  By that point, I would have signed up for anything just to be done.  I was exhausted.  Chris was less sure.  He knew we both didn’t want that.  But because of the prolonged labor and my increased temperature, the medical staff was concerned that baby had contracted an infection and wanted to get her out. 

One of Daughter's first pictures.  Lots of wires and an IV hooked up to her.  

     Daughter was pulled out of my abdomen at 12:27 p.m. on Sunday, July 5^th, 2009.  (I still stand firm that I didn’t have a baby.  Someone pulled my baby out of me.)  She went immediately to the next room because of meconium and other concerns.  Chris got a glimpse of her first moments, but I never did.  I was trapped on the operating table getting put back together while Chris tended to our new little bundle of joy.  After she got cleaned up, Daughter was brought over to me.  My arms were still tied down because I was still in surgery.  I saw her for maybe a minute and then she was taken away to the NICU.  I wouldn’t see her again for hours and hours. She was in NICU and I was wheeled to a recovery room without the ability to move from my chest down.  

     I can say confidently that this waiting was the worst experience of my entire life.  It led to months of debilitating postpartum depression.  Instead of sleeping while the baby slept, I stayed up all night crying, grieving for the loss of those first critical hours of baby’s life outside of the womb.  I felt I hadn’t bonded with my baby because of the circumstance.  I felt cheated and robbed and helpless.  I desperately wanted a do-over.  

     It wasn’t until I joined Club Run that I started feeling like a normal person again.  Running has been my confidence, my discipline, and my release.  It has been one of the best experiences of my entire life. 

     My previous birth experience has led to some anxiety for this second pregnancy.  The last thing I want is to be put into that situation again.  Yes, Daughter was a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby.  I just want to be able to enjoy this new baby’s first impressions of his new world.  I want Baby to know who his mommy is right away. 

     So I am a TOLAC.  I’m going to try giving birth the better way this time around.  I have some things in my favor now.  The biggest, I think, is perspective.  I certainly have more knowledge now.  A close second is my distance running.  I was not a runner before my daughter was born.  In fact, I didn’t start until she was 6 months old.  I have confidence that my marathon running experience is going to be a helpful tool in the delivery room.   I have more practice with physical pain and endurance. 

     In the meantime, I’ll keep training.  I want this more than Boston.