"There were too many things going on that we couldn't explain"
Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 3:17PM 
By Annie
“There were too many things going on that we couldn’t explain.”
This, ultimately, is what led to my surgery. I have to backtrack to get the whole story out. I am going to be elusive as I am afraid someone might figure out various people I’m talking about as I recount all that’s happened, as I wonder if anyone else has ever had the same series of events. First, some background: my first pregnancy I went to midwives at the first birth center in my metro area (hereafter called BC1). All was well until my water broke. I have regretted for over 3 1/2 years since she was born that I called right away like they said to, and was immediately put on the clock. It was about 2am. I was dismayed that out of the large practice, the midwife on call was the only one I didn’t like, who had stressed me out two weeks before (38 weeks) that the fundal measurement was not increasing and that I was running out of amniotic fluid and would need to be induced. She made me go for an ultrasound and the AFI level was 18, which was plenty, and the radiologist read it on the spot and said everything looked fine. So I knew she was induction-happy. Later in the morning, around 10am, she called to see how I was doing, and she said she could tell that since I could talk during contractions that they weren’t real contractions. Already she was saying I was probably not going to progress and when I got to BC1 she’d find me to be 1cm, but for now she was saying to try castor oil. Other than go to the bathroom over and over, that did nothing. By that afternoon, I was saying I’d come to BC1 if her concern was that my water had been broken for over 12 hours to get on antibiotics, even though I didn’t see why that was such a big deal as I was GBS negative.
So I went to BC1, sure enough only 1cm, immediately transferred to the hospital for Pitocin. I stupidly thought BC1’s policy was you had 48 hours to go into labor; it had been about 16 and she never considered any of that labor. She made me sign a consent form for a possible Caesarean section right at the outset. I had been using HypnoBirthing and a TENS unit, but after being awake for over 24 hrs, and being scared in a hospital, I wimped out at 3 cm and asked for Nubain. She gave me that, and phenergan (didn’t tell me about the phenergan, I saw it on the report later) and I slept between contractions. Hours later, not much progress. They kept turning up the Pitocin. No change. Then my husband noticed that there was nothing dripping from the bag because there was a clot in the IV. Finally they cleared it, but didn’t turn down the Pitocin. By this point the Nubain had worn off. No other pain relief option except an epidural. I asked the midwife if an epidural would slow down labor, and she said no, but by this point I did not trust anything she said and decided that if they get that needle in my spine, then it’s too easy for them to turn it up and force me to have a Caesarean because I was close to being over the time limit, so I went without it. For hours. Just HypnoBirthing and TENS. Finally, the head was there. Suddenly there were tons of people in the room, and suddenly I was no longer to use the “breathe the baby out” technique, nor was I allowed to be in any position I wanted—I suggested a semi-squat, and she said, “Then you are sitting on your baby”. Instead I was forced to lay on my back, while me and various other people held my legs back and one nurse shouted, “Push like you’re pooping!” all while being forced to hold my breath for a count of 10. I didn’t want to do any of those things, but everytime I protested, the midwife threatened to turn me over to the obstetrician. At one point the baby’s heart rate deceled to the point the OB was in there saying I’d better consent to the vacuum or, “It’s a C-section next for you, missy”. While she prepped it, I did HypnoBirthing slow breathing and visualized a valve opening to deliver more blood to the baby. By the time the vacuum was ready, the heart rate was fine, and the OB said, “I guess I scared it into beating faster”and threw up her hands and left the room. I was given oxygen and continued pushing the way the midwife wanted me to. Eventually, something happened that my husband described as the head being partly out, the baby attempting to take a breath, and getting gook in her mouth. The midwife gave me a scared look and said, “It’s very important that you push as hard as you can NOW — don’t wait for the next contraction!” and I did and got what turned out to be a girl, both shoulders at once, and while I did not tear, I got hemorrhoids so severe that it took two surgeries to repair the damage. The baby didn’t make a noise and they whisked her away to do suctioning while I shouted across the room, “Is she okay?” I thought at first I had killed the baby by arguing about the breathing technique and not pushing correctly. Then the placenta didn’t immediately come out. I asked repeatedly to try to nurse the baby to get it to come out and the midwife ignored me. I asked what would happen after more than 40 minutes passed with no placenta if it didn’t come out. “You don’t want to know”, is what she said. Finally, it came out, and she ordered me to pee. I did, she said it wasn’t enough, and catherized me. After that she finally left and finally a nurse brought me my already-swaddled, already eye-ointmented baby nearly an hour later. I felt disconnected to her, and ravenously hungry. I asked when I could eat, and they said when I gave the baby back and went to my room, so I did, and regretted it, especially since it was hours before I finally got fed, after everyone else in the ward got their food. By the time I saw my baby again, she was asleep, and mainly stayed that way for the hospital stay.
Part of my reason for wanting another child was to have an experience that would heal this one, which at this point I considered bad. That was before I knew what was to come next. First, I had a miscarriage at 10 weeks, and was fired by my job the same day for missing work that morning to have the ultrasound that showed no heartbeat. I was in the office being fired as I was bleeding more and more and hoping I could get home before it happened. I didn’t explain what had happened until a week later, with radiology and lab reports, so that they wouldn’t think I was making it up.
A few months later I was pregnant again. Again I got a job shortly after finding out and needed to hide it. They had less than 15 employees, which negates many laws, including pregnancy discrimination laws. Fortunately, everyone but the tall guy and the vegan was so fat that no one noticed my weight gain. Unfortunately, I caught H1N1 flu during a blizzard and they were short-staffed and pissed off at me for missing work. Thought about telling them I was pregnant and the flu was especially dangerous, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Took antibiotics and TamiFlu and started to feel better and was ready to come back after three days, but was fired for missing work.
This was halfway through the pregnancy. Couldn’t find appropriate work again that would fit the timeframe left. Shortly after the flu, had bronchitis. Lost weight. The midwives at the second birth center (BC2) were concerned about this. But I ate more and eventually caught right back up to where I was supposed to be. Then at week 28 tested borderline anemic 10.1 hGb and was threatened to be kicked out of BC2 over it. After eight weeks, got the level up to 10.9, but had one BP reading of 128/84, slight swelling (but I had been wearing socks) and trace protein in the urine. I argued that it was a very hot in the office and I was worried about a career-related exam the next day (which I subsequently failed). Suddenly, I was almost kicked out of BC2 again over that. Did what they said and rested more, and while on my left side on the fourth day, my older daughter was crying in pain over an ear infection, the fetus could hear it and was making frantic movements, and suddenly my abdomen took on a weird triangular shape and the movements stopped. I felt around and thought, no, please tell me I’m wrong—the head was no longer in the pelvis and appeared to be lodged under my ribcage.
The next day, I went back to my planned visit to BC2 and was cleared of the pre-eclampsia threat with a reading of 112/68 and no protein in urine and no swelling. But it didn’t matter, as two midwives confirmed that the baby was now frank breech. They urged me to go to the one OB in the metro area who would do external cephalic version and then “let you go home”. He also was known as the only one who would do vaginal frank breech births. I did not get anything to eat or drink in between these visits as it was urgent as it was 37 wk 5 days. I waited for hours, sweating, in the office. He thought he turned it. Went next door to the hospital for a non-stress test, baby still frank breech. Tech read AFI of 8.85 and OB said forget it, not enough fluid to turn baby. I argued that it had only turned 12 hours before, it obviously had enough then. He said my placenta was failing and that a vaginal birth was out of the question and that nothing I could try was going to get the baby to turn and there was no way to bring the AFI level up and that he was not going to let me go past 39 weeks. I started crying and he told me that I’m the mama and stop being a baby. I asked at least if I could have general anesthesia and he said no way and that no one would do that.
I told the midwives at BC2 what happened, and their hands were tied because they could not help me anymore. Three days later I asked for a referral for another ultrasound to see if my attempts at bringing up the AFI level helped (the moxibustion, inversion, HypnoBabies breech turning CD, and chiropractic Webster technique had done nothing for the position) and the report was an AFI of 9. Since that was still not high enough, and days of frantic phone calls to doulas, midwives and birth activitists groups didn’t get me anywhere, I decided on a drastic course that was to completely disrupt my whole family: a two-day drive to a group of rural midwives, CPMs, not CNMs, with the legal ability and expertise to do frank breech births.
We arrived, and I was accepted to the practice, and examined and found to be at -3 station, long and closed cervix. The plan was to stay in a cabin and continue to try to turn the baby, but it was okay if it didn’t turn. After days of pressure, I thought I could relax. I was wrong. Less than six hours after arriving, I let my 3 1/2 year old nurse to sleep, as we had done throughout the pregnancy. Since the turning, the Braxton Hicks contractions had stopped during that time. That night, there was one slight contraction, followed by a gusher. I Knew it had happened again—my water broke. I panicked about what this meant for a breech birth. The flow was much faster than last time. My husband checked, no cord prolapse. He listened carefully and heard a fast fetal heartbeat. I should have learned my lesson, but was overwhelmed with guilt if I did not tell the CPM what happened. I will NEVER forgive myself for this. She came to the cabin and verified everything, and noticed vernix in the fluid. She said the most important thing to do was sleep and maybe I’d be in labor by the morning. I said what about taking pulsatilla, and she said that wouldn’t help. I said what about sitting on a birth ball, and she said that wouldn’t help. I said what about using Spinning Babies techniques now, and she said that would only help turn from posterior to anterior. It was very difficult, but I managed to sleep a short time, until my 3 1/2 year old woke up in the predawn hours scared because she didn’t know where she was. I told her, “Today is a special day. You can have “boo” all you want, the more you do, the more you help mommy have your baby brother or sister”. She beamed from ear-to-ear and enthusiastically took up the offer. I started feeling regular, mild contractions. With each one, I felt the baby adjust positions, and felt more fluid gush out. After the sun rose, the baby was noticeably, even to my husband, lower — the head was no longer wedged in my ribcage and I could take a deep breath. I started walking to get some breakfast. The CPM drove up and said she had already notified the OB at the hospital and he was now going to be doing the delivery. She said not to worry, as he was experienced with frank breech births and was willing to give me some Pitocin. This was after I told her about the contractions and the baby’s shifting movements and after she had told me the night before that she was going to give me twelve hours to go into active labor. This was only eight hours later. In retrospect, my husband and I believe she lied to us the whole time, and the second my membranes ruptured, she had no intention of being my midwife. I knew I couldn’t trust her, just like I couldn’t trust the midwife from BC1. Based on what she said at this point, and knowing hospital policies and how grueling Pitocin is, I made sure to get breakfast. I even had some orange juice with castor oil. As I was finishing breakfast, the CPM’s assistant came in and did the first exam. She found 2-3 cm dilation, but position still -3. She called the OB, and that was it—no Pitocin, no chance, it was a Caesarean and I must consent. We followed her a half hour to the hospital and I was crying hysterically. My 3 1/2 year old wanted to know why, and I told her now they won’t let me push the baby out, they are going to cut it out, and I won’t be able to do anything for weeks—not play with you, not drive, not even walk at first and that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
I get there and they hook me up to IV for antibiotics. I was GBS negative again this time. No signs of infection. Fetal monitor shows a heartbeat of 150 and contractions every five minutes. No sign of distress. Doesn’t matter. All OB and CPM can talk about is, “We don’t know why the baby is not descending, there must be something wrong with the umbilical cord”. I said I had two ultrasounds the week before and I specifically asked the techs each time where is the umbilical cord—is it wrapped around the neck? And both times they said it was nowhere near the neck. The OB said well maybe it’s too short and that’s why the baby is not descending. I said then how was it vertex for weeks, up until one week before? I said, we’re in a hospital, you have an ultrasound, why don’t you bring it in here and look at the umbilical cord. He said it is hard to visualize. I suggested amnioinfusion and an attempt at external cephalic version, again to deaf ears. In the meantime, CPM (the assistant one), a twice-Caesarean mom not nearly in the shape I am in in (to put it nicely) is sitting there trying to convince me that it is in the best interest of the fetus to do the surgery. My husband said I should have known when agreeing to have a child this could happen and that he was going to have to go with what the doctor said and that he would never forgive me if something would happen because I refused surgery. The nurse tries to put something in the IV to stop the contractions, and I yell, “Why?” because I hadn’t consented to that, and she said, “Because you are having surgery”. It still wasn’t going to be for hours, and I said I wanted me 9 day premature fetus to have as many catecholamines with each contraction as it could, because I was worried it would end up in NICU. I imagine they weren’t even going to tell me they were doing this and then afterwards use it as further proof that my body was a failure and I was lucky they cut the baby out of me. So the contractions continue, but they are “nothing to write home about” according to the nurses. No one lets me get out of bed or try anything that might get the labor to progress, even though the baby the whole time is doing just fine on the monitors. All I can do is cry and dread dread dread the imminent mutiliation of my body. The only condolence is this OB was willing to do general. When they wheeled me into surgery, even with the drape up, I could look up at the lights and see the reflection of the abdominal swabbing. I would have seen it all, and it was a long surgery, as we collected cord blood, which made me lose more blood, plus I hastily decided that since all hope of ever having a natural birth was gone forever that I never wanted to go through this again, so I had my tubes tied—which I later read in the surgical report resulted in tearing of one of the ligaments to the fallopian tube. He also found two fibroids—one on the outside of the uterus that was the size of a ping-pong ball that stuck into my small intestines, which he removed, and one in the “horn” of my mildly bicornuate uterus (which no one had ever said my uterus had an abnormal shape) where the head had been lodged—and that one he could not tell me was submucosal nor intramural, nor was it removed, nor was it ever seen by any tech in all the many ultrasounds I’d had, even though I would ask the techs if there were any because my mother had had fibroids. This fibroid he could not remove due to risk of further hemorrhaging. The original CPM had first speculated that I had PROM twice due to lack of vitamin E, which I don’t buy, as I took prenatal vitamins and had a normal diet, but makes for a convenient way to blame me. With this info, she speculated that the fibroid put extra pressure on the sac and caused to it burst too soon. If that were the case, then it had to have been present for the two other pregnancies, but no one ever said anything.
So after all the fuss about the umbilical cord—it was not wrapped around the neck, nor was it short—it was long enough to send a good sample to collect Wharton’s jelly. It would have been a long labor—so what, I was prepared for that. There was NO REASON that the ONLY thing that had to be done was surgery. If we would have tried to let me labor with Pitocin, and the fetus would have shown signs of distress, I would have been able to accept this as inevitable.
The only people I called the first night to say that I’d had the baby was my parents. I particularly wanted to ask my mother more about her fibroid history. But she had wagged her finger at the news of my first pregnancy and shrieked, “Mark my words! You are going to have a Caeasarean!” and was disappointed that I’d managed a normal birth. Now she finally got her wish, and screamed at me that I had tried to kill that baby, and what a stupid thing I did traveling out of state and who told me to do that. I hung up the phone without ever even telling the baby’s name and spent the rest of the night crying, and unable to sleep, even when I let them take the baby and give her formula so I could have Ambien.
I already knew a lot about the horrible after-effects from reading this blog, and the books “Thinking Mother’s Guide to a Better Birth” and “Pushed”. Ironically, from this blog I also knew about, and immediately ordered, the C-section recovery kit and the C-Panty. I also ordered SRC recovery shorts later on—they are actually the most helpful. I mention this as all additional costs that this horrible birth has caused. Trying to have a better recovery is the only thing I have any control of at this point. But that doesn’t matter, as none of what I read prepared me for these physical problems: (1) a paralyzed bowel after surgery that the CPM blamed on my taking more powerful painkillers — and I’ve had surgery before, but never did peristalsis just stop, with no amount of laxatives, stool softeners, or enemas helping for days. The one advantage I thought
surgery would have is no problems with hemorrhoids, but now I had that problem again, and it made sense, as my intestines were manipulated more than usual to remove the pedunculated fibroid; (2) mastitis, even though I’d been breastfeeding for 3 1/2 years; (3) severe pain after waiting what should have been ample time to have sex again. There is such extensive nerve damage in the layers upon layers that are severed in the surgery, some of which is “extended bluntly”, and some of it is from the bladder blade the lifts the bladder out of the way—right in the trigone area where the bundle of nerves that make up the g-spot are located. So now, instead of any enjoyment, there is severe burning pain, plus pain after urination (and no, there is no UTI, been tested postpartum), and no, I don’t care how much the CNMs at BC2 try to blame it on “stress” or “lack of lubrication”—this is not that kind of pain, it is a pain of damaged nerves that may never heal ever.
That’s for the physical part. Now for the mental part. No one mentions how emotionally different a surgical extraction of the fetus is. When the baby was brought to me, as far as I was concerned she could have been any baby. I didn’t believe she even knew who I was, even a day later. Once they mutilated me, then I got the Pitocin, for 24 hours, so I could have the joy of contractions while nursing on a scarred uterus, and no chance at all at any of the natural oxytocin I should have been rewarded with. No endorphins, either, just crappy morphine that did not kill the pain but made me so dizzy that the room was spinning and I was afraid to hold the baby. The first picture that my husband took of me and the baby, I refused to fake any kind of joy—nothing like the way I felt with our firstborn. Indeed, the subsequent pictures have forced smiles, as I cannot be around this baby and feel any kind of happiness. I look at her and find her ugly and the smell of her makes me nauseous. I take care of her, but feel no joy and cannot smile at her. At seven weeks old, she doesn’t smile, either, as surely she realizes that I hate her for doing this to me. She had to turn and ruin everything.
So of course everyone reading this will think, oh, it’s just post-partum depression, it’s just hormones. No, it’s more than that. Having the baby extracted changes the entire structure of the brain’s response to a babies’ cries, and this is already evident in the fact that this baby screams bloody murder for every thing that bothers her, with no variation. Obviously, I didn’t pick up on the cues at the beginning and now that’s my fault, too. She also got used to being held a lot, as I could do so little at first, and now only that is acceptable and she won’t sleep on her own. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid after doing attachment parenting with the first child. Now the house is a complete disaster, and even though I have a disgusting red scar smirking upwards at me under a “shelf” that the CNMs at BC2 are trying to humor me into thinking is a healing ridge that will go away, and I’m STILL bleeding, I have to hold the demanding monster while trying to move heavy objects and climb ladders and put things on shelves. Why don’t we hire help? All the parties involved—BC2, the birth assistant I had to hire who ultimately never was used, and the CPMs have yet to reimburse us, plus we owe the hospital a sizeable copay. The CPMs did next to nothing—one prenatal visit, the useless companionship at the hospital, brief post-natal visits, yet charged an arbitrary fee that is not itemized that may or may not have been submitted to our insurance that equalled more than the entire charge of all my visits the whole pregnancy with BC2, and almost the full amount the delivery would have cost—with the gall to demand more after I had already been mutilated. I think the overall feeling is that while I’ve been bullied and not listened to and coerced into bad decisions in my life, this is the one that has destroyed the integrity of my body—look up the percentage of c-sections that cause adhesions and cause permanent nerve damage — it’s ALL of them; destroyed my ability to enjoy motherhood the second time around; and destroyed my trust in ALL people—I cannot trust my husband ever again and we cannot stop fighting since this happened, I already knew not to trust mainstream doctors, but also I cannot trust the alternative to the mainstream—and if anyone is thinking this is a group of “medwives”, you would be shocked to know who they were, they are people you think are on your side. NO ONE is on your side. If you have an unassisted childbirth in this situation and something happens, you can be charged with murder. No one trusted me and my instinct. I wanted the chance to get the baby out the way nature intended and never believed it was in any danger, and no one believed me, and ultimately no one is going to believe me about anything else in life, either, if they can’t even believe me about something that could have avoided my having major abdominal surgery and much higher risk of dying. It’s obvious that my instinct and my health means nothing when all anyone can say is “you have a healthy baby, that’s all that matters”.
So why don’t I get any help for the mental problems? Indeed, I have, but that has not helped, as I knew that no stupid SSRI—in this case Effexor, was going to work, as they really don’t work for most people any better than a placebo and have never worked for me. The lorazepam has helped with sleep—although I keep having nightmares, sometimes of being raped at knifepoint while in labor. I also had a blood test to see if it was a thyroid problem. Nope. Am taking a mini-pill to up the level of progesterone. Not helping either. To add insult to injury, the CNMs referred me to a psychiatrist who charged triple the normal rate and didn’t take any insurance, thus further adding to the financial burden and increasing my guilt. I’ve also bought an oxytocin enhancer that I take before breastfeeding, hoping that it will somehow give me the good bonding feelings I had the first time. That hasn’t helped. Nor has co-sleeping, skin-to-skin contact, kangaroo care, trying to talk nicely to her or sing to get some kind of reaction other than screaming in my ear that is now causing me to have ringing in my ears when I try to sleep as if I’d been to a loud concert.
If things do not start getting better, I think I need to get out of my family’s life, especially the baby, who shouldn’t grow up with a mother that hates her.
Jill
Annie posted this comment which I’m posting here as a follow-up
I wanted to respond to OB’s question: the first baby had late decels with the Pitocin contractions, but I still ultimately delivered normally. The second baby had a steady heart rate of 150 the whole time, and it was hours from the time I arrived, after being rushed by CPM #2 who told me that the doctor was doing them a favor by coming in on his day off and he was waiting for me. I wanted to ask you, OB, if it is true that you cannot visualize an umbilical cord to find out if it is too short, too long, or wrapped around the neck, as this OB kept telling me. I asked several times to have them bring in an ultrasound machine and take a look. I thought they could use a Doppler ultrasound to measure the blood flow. I told him to call the two radiology centers that had done ultrasounds in the past week and he wouldn’t. I showed him the reports. He said it could have changed. I had screwed myself over by signing the consent forms they threw in my face the second I arrived, so I guess I couldn’t unconsent and no longer had a right to demand anything by that point.
As far as the tubal ligation, I had planned to get a Mirena IUD, but my husband had in the past said after two kids he wanted me to get my tubes tied, and I said no way was I having abdominal surgery. So I knew that was what he wanted, so I figured do that, too. I have since found out that BC2 only allows VBAC with double-layer sutures (which I did get) and another vaginal birth to “prove yourself”—so I’d have to have four kids. And all the hospitals around here ban VBACs now, so I’d have to have a homebirth with a midwife that I could trust—and I don’t see how I could ever trust any midwife. And if it is the fibroid, 3-4 cm. on the top of the uterus that causes the PROM, and I get a myomectomy, then I’d have two scars on my uterus and surely no one would allow me the chance to have a vaginal birth.
Something I think I forgot to mention in the story — there were many hours that passed while everyone waited for my stomach to empty. That is one of the things I keep dwelling upon. The CPM who followed my to the hospital charged by the HOUR to do nothing except reinforce what CPM 1 and OB kept saying—I am going to have a dead baby if I don’t have the surgery. I don’t know how many times dead baby was mentioned. I didn’t find this out until we got the itemized bill, as there was nothing in the contract about it, nor was it told to me verbally, as there was no reason for her to even accompany me. If I had been at BC2 there was a set fee for a birth assistant 50% less, and I’m pretty sure my birth assistant would have done something besides coerce me into surgery as the first and only resort.
I also forgot to mention some other things I tried to do to get labor to progress—I had taken Gentle Birth uterine toner that day and for several days towards the end of the pregnancy, and rubbed a blue and black cohosh salve on my abdomen multiple times. I so wanted to take pulsatilla, which I learned about in the section of “Pushed” about Christine Callaigh, (I wish I could have had someone like her instead) but CPM 1 kept telling me, “all that will do is make the baby kick”.
I also wanted to respond to Amy—I haven’t let me husband read the story or comments, but I told him what you wrote, and he said, “Why do you believe everything you read?” I said I didn’t know why you would make that up. You are lucky you got a good outcome, I don’t know if I could have done that.
To people who have told me to try another therapist—I meant to write about the one that I saw immediately asked leading questions about my ability to take care of the baby, then got my husband on the home, and demanded that he come to the next visit. There was no next visit, as we both think she was on the verge of calling child protective services, just because I said I was having trouble bonding with the baby. I have been taking good care of the baby—we cosleep, we do EC, I wear home sometimes (another product I like—-the Miracle Cami), I sing to her, I breastfeed on demand. And she is still a miserable baby. I can be doing all those things, and she still screams in my ear. And I still hate the way she smells, especially her hair.
To Sarah—you are the only one besides me who thinks my husband betrayed me. He says, “I drove two days to help you avoid surgery. What else was I supposed to do?” I say, “not say things like I hope we are not bringing a tiny casket home”. I told him that what I wanted to do while following CPM 2 to the hospital is find out if the baby is okay and try to renegotiate with the OB to do the Pitocin. He said he would have done that. But once we were there he was just agreeing with the doctor. One of the things I had a hard time doing in convincing him to make this trip was find benefits to the baby for a vaginal birth. So far, I think she coughs and sneezes more than my other child, and seems to have digestive problems. I said that I think this is because she didn’t go through the birth canal and get the fluid out of her lungs and get colonized with my bacteria. But I guess you can’t prove that.
To Julie—I’m not sure if there is really anything to sue about, but it is keeping me from naming names, and I so want to.
To the people who suggested I join an advocacy group—I don’t know what more I would advise a woman to avoid an unnecessarean, as the group I went to are well-known in those circles, and if that didn’t work, I don’t know what will.
To the people who said it wasn’t my fault—I still think it was partly my fault. I should never have called the CPM when my water broke once we knew there was no cord prolapse and the heart rate was good. It is is my fault for dragging my family two days each way, costing us so much money, instead of trying harder to find a midwife locally to do a home birth. Even if that had been a hospital transfer, it wouldn’t have been so much money. And I question if being in a bucket car seat (something Spinning Babies mentions as a cause of malpositioning) for two days made things worse, as the baby was also somewhat posterior.
To Spinning Babies lady (sorry, forgot your name)—neither CPM tried to do anything with me once the water broke, they had a rebozo and didn’t bring it, and my husband, after I told him throughout the pregnancy to make sure he had his cellular broadband card and that site bookmarked, forgot to bring the laptop to the hospital. That was because CPM 2 was rushing us, hovering over me, upsetting me more.
Which brings me to Gayla’s point about “fight or flight”—yup, it was hours of arguing, on my back, attached to an IV and an EFM, while CPM 2 did nothing but say that my baby would die if we did anything else. If I could have had someone supportive with me, if they could have taken me off the monitor for a while, put in a heplock, let me walk around, let me listen to my HypnoBabies/Birthing CDs, which I did bring, maybe I could have progressed. They didn’t want me to progress, that’s why they tried to sneak the contraction-stopping med into my IV.
Another detail I didn’t mention—on the surgical report it says, in addition to the breech and PROM, “Having never met this patient before, it was decided to do a caesarean”. So, punished by the OB and the CPM group for being someone they just met. All these conversations went on behind my back. Another haunting detail—one of the last things said to me before being put under was one of the nurses saying, “This is a happy surgery!” I shouted, “That’s because it’s not YOUR body!” It was so condescending. Just like when I said in my first phone call to CPM 1 that I just wanted someone to believe I could do it and she said, “bless your heart”. I now realize that phrase is meaningless. I took it as a sign of encouragement.
Again, without giving away who this group, who are not medwives, who in fact some of you who commented words to that effect might know of, or even know personally, as they teach other midwives, did not do any encouraging things for me , they did nothing for me, and yet there are happy birth stories on the Internet about births with them and even in particular with the first CPM and specifically more than one talking about breech births.
Reader Comments (59)
Oh, Annie, you've been through a human-created hell. I definitely agree that you might benefit from a PTSD diagnosis. I had it for years and there were times down in the pit when I could have written what you have written, except that my condition resulted from a different betrayal and a different kind of rape.
As for your baby, it is entirely possible that the bad smell is not "all in your head." A stinky baby who cries all the time may be having trouble digesting something you ate. You might try an elimination diet to see whether dropping one or more of the common culprits (soy, dairy, citrus fruits, peanuts, etc.) helps with the crying and the smell. If this turns out to be the case, it's not your fault at all; how could you possibly have known?
Limpet babies who do.not.want.to.be.put.down.ever are exasperating even to moms who had ecstatic births. Then there are the babies who are all "No touchy unless I'm nursing or got a scare," who are exasperating in their own way. I've had one of each. Again, totally not your fault. Babies have individual preferences from the hour they are born.
When I was down in the bottom of the pit, I used to tell myself, "Hunker down and hold on, just hang on, do what you need to do and let the rest go, hold on, hold on, hold on." It kept me going until I was able to find validation that I was not crazy from books, from a support group of people who had been (were going) through similar hells, from therapists. And eventually I was able to move, a crawling inch at a time, up the slope and out. And here I am, and I'm okay.
Hold on, hold on, hold on.
Annie - I'm so sorry you had to go through all this. I can't imagine the betrayal you must be feeling. I have similar feelings towards my OB and my husband as well. My OB is known in my area as being super natural birth friendly which is why I went with her in the first place, but at 38 weeks she totally changed. She wanted to induce me for having a big baby and made all these awful comments about how my baby could die. I fought her off and went into labor on my own, but after 42 hours they insisted I have a c-section, even though I was starting to push because my baby's heartrate was high. This was of course after they pushed every possible intervention on me, including an epidural that took over 20 excruciating stabs to the spine to get in. My husband was supportive as long as everything was going fine at home, but as soon as we got to the hospital he just agreed with everything the nurses and doctor said. He completely stopped being on my side and my doula was totally useless as well. After surgery, I was in excruciating pain because I am allergic to Vicodin and the other meds they gave me hardly worked at all. Nobody cared.
I luckily didn't suffer from PPD or bonding issues with the baby. But a year and a half later I became very depressed and was given Zoloft which is safe for nursing and has worked wonders for me and a few other moms I know who had PPD. Would this be an option? I also recommend a therapy called EMDR, which is used for people who have PTSD or other severe traumas.
I hope that you can find some healing and peace soon. I wish I could say something more that would help you or make things better. Please know that you are not alone. There are many of us who have suffered similar betrayals and complications and nightmare births unfortunately. There are some wonderful support forums out there on which you can talk to other moms about your feelings. The babycenter.com community is amazing...they have a group for everything, including emotional support after a cesearan. I found it to be a form of free therapy and since it's anonymous, you don't have to worry about someone calling CPS because you're not bonding with your baby.
Big hugs to you mama. I hope life improves for you soon.
Oh and Annie - Screw the housework. It's not important. Your baby isn't old enough to crawl yet and your other child is old enough to avoid the mess. Keep it clean enough not to get ants and let the rest of it go. Nobody is going to care if your laundry piles up.
Get out of the house if you can...go anywhere. For a walk(if you're up to it), to a friends...anywhere you want to go.
Sorry I forgot to add that in my first comment. Seriously...let the cleaning go. It's not worth it.
Annie, it has been months since you first posted (though I read it for the 1st time 4 days ago)... and I am wondering where you are at in your world. I do hope you are feeling good and your spirits have risen above this horror you went through. I commend you for trying to "take responsibility", so to speak, for what happened... but I really think that you were brutalized mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually... then abandoned... then overcharged for their inconvenience.
I also think your husband's behavior was deplorable... and maybe unforgivable. I'm truly sorry, anguished and heartbroken for you.
My own midwife team ignored symptoms of eclampsia, criticized me for having the gall to say I didn't feel well, subjected me, my husband, my mother and my 4 other children to rude menopausal outbursts... and I nearly died. I staggered into the ER on my baby's "due date" and begged them to get the baby out of me. I told them that I had had 1 previous successful home birth, 3 previous successful midwife assisted births (though my 1st baby was a transport as while I was laboring hard, they were watching a movie in my living room with my husband... ran out of oxygen and insisted that I go to the ER when my baby's heart deceled twice)...
My point to the ER docs was that I knew what I was doing (with labor and birth) and also knew I was extremely sick, unable to heal myself (I had been living very naturopathically for the previous 14 years), and I was utterly TERRIFIED that I was going to die and take my baby with me...
Long story short... I had severe eclampsia, threw a blood clot in my left lung and had peri-partum cardiomyopathy. All of which have left me a shell of the person I used to be... and alternately PISSED, then despondent. To be as frank as I can be, the main reason I have not followed through with the suicide plans I put together is that I KNOW without doubt that I would be sent right back down to the hellhole we know as life to learn these lessons all over again. I am sticking it out, getting a grip on my life, trying therapies that I'd not tried before and realizing gratitude in my life...
My midwives were strangers by the time the dust settled... even though they had participated in the beautiful wate rbirth in my living room, just 18 months before (2005) with my 4th pregnancy. They just seemed to be royally pissed off that I had the nerve to go to the hospital and was actually really ill. They overcharged us and then gave us a smarmy "SO THERE!" billing statement with several ambiguous, bogus charges... none of which were detailed in the contract we signed with them... all of which came directly out of our pocket. I just think, to this very day, almost 4 years later, that they were rotten bitches (please pardon my frank speech) and I do not ever recommend them or refer them to anyone I talk to about having a home birth, which I still believe very much in. These 2 women would have let me die, then blamed my husband for working me too hard... (We own our own accounting practice and it was during our busiest time of year, tax season, that all of this came down) They had already told my hard working husband that it was his fault that I was not feeling well... "Darren-itis", the head bitch called it. We contemplated litigating and had a well put together case... but my husband and I both felt that a suit of this nature would do more harm to the midwifery community in Maine, than good for us. We moved on with our lives as best we could... me as damaged goods...
I can say that I did not have the disconnection to my babies that you have described. I adore my 3 eldest kids, and am so freaking proud of how they have handled themselves with all the shit we've been through. My babies, ages 5, almost 4 and 2 also keep me here, even though they are so much work for me, with a damaged heart, and exhaustion just from climbing a few stairs... They are like light in the darkest room... My husband and I (*still very much in love and very supportive of each other) have been through all this together and he certainly bears emotional scars of his own, but never did he talk to me the way your husband did to you... I'm so sorry. I cannot even put it together coherently how your words, pouring out over the screen with such raw emotion, yet so matter-of-fact... pummeled my heart. I so wish that you are doing well, now. I so wish that your babies are the light in a dark room for you... and I so wish that you could realize how amazing you are for still trying, reaching out and getting your story out here. I hope you have found some peace, after all this time.
I ordered a Bob Beck protocol "brain Tuner" to help re-awaken my endorphin producers after being on a ton of pain killers with all the issues I have. Thus far I have less anxiety, less depression (I do have PTSD from extensive sexual abuse as a child and teenager) and my outlook is better. I have put my email address in under my screen name. If you want to email, or talk, I'd be right here for you. Hopefully you are doing well, and maybe there will be a post from you saying as much... I hope.
(I realize that this is written some time after it was originally posted and some or all things may have changed--I pray that they have.) As someone who has had nine surgeries--some gynological, some orthopaedic. I have no living children. I do not possess any professional degrees or doctorates to make any sort of diagnosis to you, Annie, but I can tell you that I am so sorry that the medical community--authority figures that they've become in American culture--has failed us both. I absolutely agree with the women that have suggested that you may suffer from post-traumatic-stress-disorder. Think about the words. Put another way, it is: AFTER a TRAUMA HORROR DISORDER, all of which pertains to your situation. You've been through a battle, albeit a medical battle, but a medical soldier, a soldier that gave her body to her daughter. Do you think about your surgery every day? You've said that you cannot find your child likeable--that she screams and smells disgusting, etc. I also had so much trouble with PTSD are exactly what you describe: dreams, inability to sleep, hopelessness, focusing on the event constantly.
The main reason I'm writing to you, Annie, is that I'm worried for your children. One of the biggest issues with those that PTSD is that we have trouble maintaining relationships. This doesn't just include your tiny one, but your four year old. The last time her mother was 'normal' she was told that her mother would never be the same--and she wasn't. You have two children that depend on you--you do not have a choice to just quit. You have miles to go before you rest.
my heart breaks for you, I'm so sorry you went through these horriffic events. You sound extremely educated about pregnancy, birth and labor. I think you are doing a lot of good by sharing your story, and your pain can help others avoid the same pain. Your doctors, midwives and others really failed you when you needed them most.
I wish I had the words to say to help you, and make some of the pain go away. And I really truly hope you can bond with your child. People can and do bond with children they don't give birth to, although it can take time. I really hope despite your pain, you can have a good relationship with both your children and not suffer for the rest of your life, you really don't deserve that.
Dear Momma, I understand what you went through. Hang in there. You are not alone! I also was mutilated, and have suffered from all sorts of wierd sensations around my bladder. I dont feel the normal urge to urinate, until suddenly I HAVE to go NOW! No one believes me that holding my pee is PAINFUL! Fortunatly, the surgery did not affect sexual functioning, but I sure can see how it would. You may not see it right now, but you are a strong capable woman victimized by the system. Birth trauma is real and we both had a huge dose! I do believ my cs contributed to massive PPD, and I still struggle with depression. Lots of hugs your way!
Here is what's happened in the past year in a nutshell:
I was ordered to find a therapist. In my research and in the comments, it sounded like EMDR would be the most helpful. The first therapist broke my trust. The second I started seeing for a few weeks, and just like therapy always has to turn into, she started dragging out ever getting started, rehashing my childhood, etc. I asked what the point of EMDR was and she said so that the memory of what happened did not have to upset me so much. I said I thought I had every reason to be upset and resent people telling me that I shouldn't be. Then every week I said when are we going to get on with it and use the machine. She kept saying it was all in preparation. In the meantime, I was frantically job-hunting because I wanted to do something else besides be with screaming baby 24/7. I found a job before I ever got to use the machine.
Then, during the course of the job, I had a lot of time to think during the long commutes and the many nights of insomnia. I came to the conclusion that if I could possibly try again and learn everything possible from what went wrong, I am sure I could mitigate the risks. It was an offhand remark, but what the c/s dr. said, "mildly bicornuate uterus", and everything I looked up about it explains why I had PROM and slow labor twice. I knew there had to be something anatomical about the PROM, it was just too much coincidence. So this furthers my guilt as to one of the worst things I could have done right before the trauma was take a two-day drive in bucket seats--that only further made malpositioning. If I could have a chance again, I would (1) make sure I avoid crowds during flu season, (2) follow the protocol for bicrornuate uterus on Spinning Babies, beginning with chiroprator from 20 weeks on, (3) find one of those specialized diets that nourishes the placenta so that the fluid levels stay high enough, and, in turn, feed my family better, (4) avoid long car rides, (5) find a midwife well ahead of time that I know will be my midwife who isn't bound by so many laws as the ones at the birth center, who threatened to risk me out at every little infraction, (6) plan a home birth with a hired person here near the due date either on-site or on-call, maybe more than one person, who is a neutral party and more reliable than my family,. friends, or neighbors to help with the kids, (7) continue with the hypno birthing techniques, which helped the first time. Now, when I mentioned all of this to my husband while working on the job with the long commute, although he didn't want a third child, he was okay with it and could see how much it meant to me. It was the first time my heart was filled with hope instead of blackness. This was after so many, many mean things he had said to me. The one that got me the most is when I said I hope I don't live to see my daughters have children because I don't want to see them bullied like I was. He said, "They won't be, as I am going to raise them to have a spine, not like you! No one signed that consent form but you!". I said, "So. then you think I deserved it." He said that's not what he was saying at all.
Anyway, flash-forward some months. Job with long commute contract doesn't get renewed. I spent part of unemployment in quest of tubal reversal. After two doctors charge unreimbursed hundreds of dollars in consultation to tell me no, third doctor doesn't give me a hard time, does the surgery two weeks ago, and it's a complete success! Aside from another pedunculated fibroid, he said there were no adhesions and odds are good I could conceive again. On top of that, another job offer, more money, much closer to home! Everything would be good except now husband says he changed his mind, he does not want any more children with me, as there is a no guarantee that things wouldn't go even more wrong than the other two times. I said that even if it didn't go exactly right, if there is a real cause for drastic measures, a true danger, and all other options are ruled out and people don't lie to me and treat me respectfully it still would help me put what happened with the second baby into perspective. He says than go find someone to have this third baby and he's keeping custody of the two existing kids. Which brings me back into despair, as I really thought I was on to something that felt good and gave me hope in life. Maybe this is unrealistic, but if I could have a third child and things go the way they are supposed to because I took all the precautions above, the second baby would benefit from my correct hormones and inner peace. She was cheated out of all of that, and I have never formed the bond with her the way I did with the first child. I pointed out to husband how good I felt with the first child, how I wanted to be with, how I wanted to take care of her, how I was proud of myself for having maternal instincts, and proud of my body for birthing the baby. He doesn't think of these things are valid. I have tried very hard to be nicer to the second baby, who is now a toddler who screams in frustration and has regressed into not sleeping through the night and only wants to nurse constantly while kicking me in the two incisions. She also rarely hugs, and when she does, it's just to make a grab at the breasts, and the rest of the time she smacks me (and everyone) in the head and face (this has been going on for about eight months) and bites my nose and arms and nipples. Whether all of this is in revenge for my being so absolutely miserable, never smiling at her, not wanting to kiss her because of the way she smelled, or if her personality is like this I guess I'll never know. The thought that this was the end of the road, how the rest of motherhood will be, without any of the good feelings I had anticipated, I don't see how it's ever going to get better.
In the meantime, I have never gotten any justice from the place in the other state. Almost none of the money they charged was reimbursed. I compared the itemized bill with what they submitted to insurance, what each code meant, and why it was rejected. All the "support" was outright rejected, as the insurance didn't see how it was a service--and I certainly don't see $1250 for "support" consisting of rushing me, giving me a guilt trip that the doctor was waiting, and bullying me with the doctor as a service. I also don't see as a "service" a $600 transfer fee, which is more than an urban ambulance ride I once took and paid out of pocket, and we drove ourselves there! They didn't even try to find a code for that or give any sort of answer as how they can justify it. They didn't ever send the same numbers to the insurance they sent to me. The sum total was different. I looked into what I can do--a lawyer would charge even more than the amount in question. Even a medical advocate would. I tried to report them, but don't know what agency, if any to report them to.
I tried to figure out if there were any justification for a bigger suit towards to ob as well, due to my multiple denied requests for an ultrasound to look at the cord. I got all my medical records and of course there is no mention of that, just "patient anxious, answered questions". The full records show that the only time the fetal heartrate went irregular was when they were wheeling my into surgery, and that the amniotic fluid was clear, the umbilical cord was three cord normal length, and the placenta was normal and APGARS were 8 and 9. So again I ask what proof was there that there was no other way to handle this.
Another thing I wanted to say to anyone who is in a desperate situation and thinks going somewhere remote with a good reputation is a good idea--it is not. That last thing you want is to go somewhere where landlines don't work and the Internet barely connects, because all your chances or getting another opinion or researching what is going on are lost forever and you can never get it back. No one is more hated in this country than a laboring woman, and the only power you can have is reputable electronic information to back up your instincts so you can win the fight. It is also to the point where you should have a recording device for evidence of all the things they'll tell you to get you to submit that they'll leave off the the records and then it's your word against theirs. It shouldn't have to be a fight, but it is. I didn't even have EMTALA on my side, because by that definition, I was not in "active labor". If you don't go into active labor on everyone's schedule, you are less than human to them.
While I was writing this, the midwife wrote back that I should be grateful they took me in at the last minute and that basically I had it coming because I didn't meet the protocol to be in active labor with a breech baby.
Hi,
I am very very sorry about what happened to you. I hope you will, eventually, heal a bit, but I can say from my vantage point: it won't be entirely, ever.
The one thing I thought upon reading your account was that I would seek a divorce. I could not go on living with someone who had let me down that far, fast and awfully.