“You will give birth like the Hebrew women.”
“I pray for easy natural labor for you as your time draws near.”
“Your birthing process will be as Sister Paula’s.”
I barely held myself from rolling my eyes. I wasn’t surprised at the reference. It was only last Sunday Paula announced her miracle labor lasting for a mere fifteen minutes during her child presentation. She proudly emphasized that her son was birthed naturally to the jubilation of all.
The loud “Amen” brought me out of my reverie. My husband had invited three Pastors from our church for this special prayer session. I tightly gripped his hands as I strained to block out the fears I had picked up circulating across social media and the internet. New mothers described just how painful and excruciating the birth process was. And expecting mothers were in panic mode.
After seven years, we were closer to expecting our first child at any point. Following two painful miscarriages and then an ectopic pregnancy, complications had resulted. The doctor gave a ten percent chance of ever conceiving again. So, I didn’t believe the news when I confirmed my pregnancy because I felt nature was playing a fast one on me. However, God was faithful. I finally started believing I would experience the feeling of being a mother.
I couldn’t quite shake off the discussion with my husband the night before. We were reading a birthing blog and the issue of vaginal and C-section birth popped up. We got into a heated argument because he strongly insisted we shouldn’t jinx the birth by considering the other option. C-section, according to him, was simply unnatural. He further argued that it would make me less of a mother.
It was clear it was this discussion that made him leave the house early in the morning to the church. He needed to invite the Pastors for a mind cleansing prayer session for me. After all, according to him, every member of his family was given birth to “naturally”.
Finally, we were alone after three long hours of intense kabashing (praying in tongues). All my attempts to bring to the fore my fears proved abortive. I struggled to bury my concerns, sending up prayers that I would not have to find out what would happen in that situation.
Two weeks later, my water broke in the early hours of the morning. I kicked into panic mode but my husband’s calmness helped steady me a little. Before I got down from the car, I made him promise to agree to the C-section as an option if there was ever a need for it. To my surprise, he immediately nodded and that reassured me.
My labor, unfortunately, was a difficult one. I lost a ton of blood and they needed to operate. I heard words like breech position, operate, son. As I drifted into unconsciousness, the only words I could mutter were “husband sign, surgery, save my baby.” And then, everything went dark. I woke up later to the sight of my husband holding my hands, his eyes brimming with tears. My eyes danced around the room, searching for my son. And when I did not see any baby, I asked my husband to bring him to me, my voice already quivering.
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t do it. He went with the angels. You have to understand darling, anything other than vaginal birth is unnatural. Maybe, this wasn’t meant to be!”
At that moment, time stopped. My world jolted. I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I screamed and screamed, and then, screamed some more.
“Murderer”, I accused repeatedly, with tears streaming down my face. My mind frantically sought to escape the despair, but I felt it settle down heavily on me. The nurses came running into the ward and asked him to leave as they sedated me.
The knowledge that my husband defied the doctor’s orders and his promise to me shattered me in more ways than one. How could he have done this? Why did he refuse to read up and carry out proper research? How could he not understand that the mode of delivery did not make anyone more or less of a woman?! Who cares whether it is vaginal or C-section as long as their baby was safe in their arms?!
Anger and hatred washed over me in one hot swoop. His words before leaving “God gives and God takes” felt like a slap to my face. Refusing the operation made me lose my last opportunity to be a mother. My baby would still be alive if he had been surgically birthed. I could have been holding Jayden in my arms and touching his sweet little face right this minute.
This realization hurt worse than the pain I felt from the near-death experience I just passed through. It was the height. I knew right there and then that I could never be whole again.
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Love,
Diane
