Rant

Sigh.

Here we go again.

I "fought" a lot with my last OB. He was Indian, and there were some definite cultural issues...let's just say that things went more smoothly when Chris did all the talking for me. Fine...I was okay with that...so long as I got what I wanted...and had Raina not been oppositionally defiant, I probably would have. All I wanted: A "natural" birth. By that, I mean getting to feel some contractions and having a vaginal delivery, all of this occurring when the baby and my body decided it should occur. For those of you who don't know, Raina was breech and I had to undergo a C-section...all of that after fighting with my OB against induction and an early one at that.

I know this is going to sound crazy to 99.9% of you. Fine. Nothing I'm not used to already. But I am completely unable to say that Raina was "born." I've never used that word to describe what took place. Instead, it's that she was "taken out" that day, or I simply say her birthday is November 2nd, or if I'm feeling particularly flowery, I'll choke out the "she came into this world" business. But born? No. Not in my screwed up head.

Some women dream about their future wedding day and honeymoon down to the last minute detail. Not me. Ever since I was a little kid, I knew that having only one child was a form of child abuse (no offense to people who choose to have only one child...I just found it hard being horribly shy and forced to move every 9 months to 3 years, never establishing permanent and long-lasting relationships with friends or family members...); thus, I always dreamed of the becoming-a-mommy experience, knowing that I would have 2 or more. I never really dreamed about the pregnancy part. That's probably a good thing, considering how much I don't really enjoy it! It was always the labor and delivery that excited me...the water breaking in some public place, the frantic, yet totally ecstatic, phone call to my husband to let him know it was "TIME," the totally allowable/socially acceptable screaming and cursing that would take place during the actual labor, etc., etc. (Thank you to TLC and Discovery Health Channel for all that they contributed to my day dreams over the years!)

I've never come to terms with my C-section. I feel horrible when I share my experience with moms-to-be who might have to undergo one. I'm the last person in the world who should be talking about it publically. But the truth is: I feel cheated. How selfish is that?!? I know it is. I KNOW it's about safely bringing a baby into the world...safely for both baby AND mom. I know this. I know the most important thing is the end result, my wonderful daughter. I KNOW this, too. For some reason, however, I have a hole in me from the experience (and a crooked scar).

And now my OB is already talking about making that hole even bigger.

I had to get a new OB since my old one moved away. After meeting with my new one a couple weeks ago, I was excited. I liked her a lot. At the very first visit, she asked what I wanted: a C-section or a V-BAC. When I said V-BAC, she said we'd have to monitor my progress but that she didn't see any reason why it shouldn't be an option. Fantastic! Just what I wanted to hear. Fast-forward to two days ago, when I met with her again. The subject of a V-BAC came up, but this time she mentioned that I would be induced and not allowed to go past my due date.

WTF?

I have this tendency to shut down when I hear something I don't like, so at the time I internalized what she said and nodded and smiled and went home feeling okay that at least everything was going okay so far (even though my uterus is "big," but whatever, so's my ass...it's all proportional for the time-being). But then that night, when I'm unable to sleep, everything she says comes back to me and the hole starts to open up. Why is it too much to ask that my body be allowed to do this when it feels ready? It's like I go through 9 months of having absolutely no control over my body...even my body has no control...the fetus is the 5-star general giving all the orders...and at the one moment my body has its time to shine, the doctors swoop in and take all the control away again. Listen...if there's a medical reason...a GENUINE medical reason (as opposed to a we're-doing-this-to-cover-our-asses-so-you-won't-sue-us-in-the-extreme-rare-case-that-something-were-to-go-wrong reason), I wouldn't stand in the way of medical intervention. A healthy outcome is ultimately what I want. HOWEVER, if it's really not medically required, why then? Why induce me? Why not let me go past my due date? Why, why, why??? But ultimately, the docs will have their answers and my worry-prone husband will agree with them, and once again I'll feel swept under the rug while my baby is artificially born.

I wish someone understood. It's so hard to put into words, but the fact that my chest aches and my eyes tear everytime I think of it should attest to how important this is to me. This isn't the rant of an emotionally unstable pregnant chick. This is the rant of a woman who just wants to be allowed to be a woman in the truest of all senses.

Sniffle. Sigh.