Giving birth by planned c-section: the low-down

Nearly 3 weeks ago I gave birth to a baby boy, by elective c-section. Here’s what happened before, during, and after, to give others an idea of what it’s like, and alleviate any fears that mothers-to-be may have about delivering a baby this way. I’ve broken this post down into:

• The morning of the c-section

• Giving birth

• Recovery directly after birth, in hospital

• At home

• What helped me prepare for birth by c-section.

The morning of, 7am

We’re sitting in the family room at Wellington hospital maternity ward, overnight bags at our feet, an older couple opposite us. “This is my fourth c-section,” the woman says. “Is this your first?”

 “Yeah.” I’m trying not to sweat too much, the little baby heater still burning away in my womb. I don’t want any advice, or to be talked through anything more. I just want it to be underway.

 “We got bumped two times already,” the woman continues. “So we’ll be up first.” Thomas and I glance at each other. We are in fact first on the list, and have been bumped twice as well. Our baby was going to be a Taurus but will now be a Gemini because of it (not that I believe in astrology, but it’s weird how the hospital can determine your baby’s birthdate and star sign!)

My midwife Rachel sends me a text to tell me she’s been at the hospital all night. We’re taken through to a ward with a couple of beds, divided by familiar sickly green and purple curtains, an early 2000s décor disaster. Rachel comes in. “I’ve been here 12 hours already and want to go home. So you’ll definitely be going first, not the other couple. You’ll be up after the emergency c-section of course, she’s been in labour for 20 hours and they can’t get the baby out.”

I feel grateful my own body hasn’t gone into labour yet, at 39 weeks and 3 days pregnant – why planned c-sections are scheduled before the 40 week mark.

My obstetrics and gastroenterology team at the hospital recommended I have a c-section back when I was 12 weeks pregnant, because I have Crohn’s Disease. I was disappointed at first, worried about being cut open and at having an epidural. I thought I might be able to give birth naturally. But now, I’ve had so much time to prepare and see the positives, I feel a mix of readiness to get the birth underway, nervousness and excitement.

It’s Wednesday 22 May and in just a couple of hours, a little person is going to enter our lives – and we know nothing can really prepare us for this moment.

Giving birth

After waiting for two and a half hours, a surgeon pops her head round the curtain and introduces herself. The anaesthetist we saw a week earlier comes in and explains the spinal injection in her calm, caring manner. To me, she’s the most important person in the room, the one who controls how much pain I’m in (which should be none during the surgery itself), who monitors my heart rate and how I’m feeling.

We’re wheeled across the hallway to the operating theatre. I’m greeted by a team of all women, something I always love to see in a hospital environment: two surgeons, the anaesthetist, a hospital midwife, my midwife, a nurse, and two students (one of them is a guy) who I’ve given permission to be in the room.

The anaesthetist gives me a local anaesthetic in my spine, marking out the correct position in marker pen first and explaining to the trainee registrar how thanks to my skinny back it’s easy to see exactly where to put the needle (this is reassuring!) The local hurts the most – it’s a sharp, stinging sensation going up my spine, but after that I don’t feel the spinal injection. Some doctors do an epidural where there’s a catheter attached to the needle, but this anaesthetist prefers one straight injection.

There’s a myth that problems occur with epidurals when the anaesthetist gets the wrong part of your spine, causing damage to nerves or even paralysis. In reality, this is rare, and most complications arise from infection (though, also rare).

We wait for the spinal to kick in. The anaesthetist asks me to lift my legs up – at first I get them up pretty high, but eventually I’m straining to lift them an inch off the table. I can’t feel them at all but my brain keeps wanting me to wriggle my toes, which is an awful sensation! The anaesthetist runs an ice cube up my leg and waist – I can feel the sensation of it, but not the coldness, until it hits somewhere around my armpit. The team know the spinal injection has worked and I won’t feel any pain, as the receptors for pain are the same as the receptors for hot and cold.

Shortly after, the surgeons begin their work. There’s a screen up so we can’t see anything. All I can feel is the sensation of rummaging, they’ve got their hands in my insides and are rooting around in there. Thomas is sitting by my head and holding my hand. After about five minutes, the surgeons press down on my chest to squeeze the baby out, what I imagine CPR must feel like if you were conscious, and this I can feel. It’s hard to breathe.

We hear a single, choked cry. Thomas peers over the screen to see his son being lifted out of my womb, covered in gunk, mouth open to the wide world. I catch a glimpse of his skin, his head, and he’s quickly taken across the room to check his vital signs and weight. He’s crying and wailing as he meets the world outside the safety of his 9 month cocoon.

He’s placed on top of my chest in skin-to-skin contact and I see my baby’s bright blue eyes, the nose we spent ages trying to decipher from the ultrasound pictures (Flynn or Keir?), his pale skin that’s been cleaned of blood, his blonde hair stuck down on his head. He’s absolutely perfect, and nothing will ever be the same.

In his hospital bassinet

Recovery directly after birth, in hospital

After baby is delivered, the surgeons stitch me up, which takes about 20 to 30 minutes. I’m so distracted by baby I don’t give a thought to what they’re doing, and it’s surprising when the midwife tells me they’ll be finished in a couple of minutes.

I’m wheeled into recovery, where after a couple of hours the anaesthetic moves down my body and I can wriggle my toes and legs again. I’m constantly monitored, and nurses and midwives come in to help with breast feeding. We’re moved to a shared ward once I can move my legs again and the couple from that morning join us – they’ve had a baby girl.

Later that evening, after our baby manages to pee all over himself, we ask these seasoned parents for some assistance with putting a nappy on properly and we chat through the curtain, about whether we could all stay the night in that room. Hospital policy is that partners can only stay if you’re in a single room, and the hospital is full – everyone says its because of the full moon, shining brightly outside the hospital window. Finally, at 9pm, we are moved up to the post-birth care section of the maternity ward to a single room, and Thomas is able to stay the night. It’ll be our first night of barely any sleep, many more of them to come.

At home

Two days later, we’re at home with our new baby, getting used to this new person in our lives. I need to sit a lot, I can’t bend, or pick up anything heavier than him. It’s vital to have help with being handed things, having meals cooked, laundry done. The recovery is going to take six weeks all up. Now I’ve been recovering for 2.5 weeks, I can pick up Ruben (I couldn’t for the first 3 days without incredible pain), I can walk for about 10 minutes outside, and I’m on less Panadol.

There are still 3.5 weeks left to recover but it’s definitely easier now. I can walk and do physio exercises every day. Ruben’s feeding incessantly and growing as he should and we love him to bits.

C-sections are different to ‘natural’ deliveries; and planned c-sections are different again from emergency ones. With a planned c-section, everything is laid out for you in advance and you’re well-rested before giving birth. No matter what way you give birth, it can be an incredibly transformative and special experience. I’m grateful to have had a positive birthing experience.

Out for a walk at home

What helped me prepare for birth by c-section

• Preparing mentally to have a c-section and viewing it positively. I spent a lot of time on this and did yoga and meditation to help.

• Having a post-birth recovery plan. Who would stay with us, help with meals, cleaning etc. We had to be flexible with this, we changed my Mum’s flight dates about three times!

• Having a discussion as a couple about dividing household tasks, and what was important to get done first.

• Preparing physically by keeping fit and healthy. I got a few looks from people when I was 39 weeks pregnant and doing (light) exercises at the gym still.

• Knowing how to exercise my rights as a patient if needed. Not everyone has a positive experience in hospital – giving birth or afterwards. It’s important to speak up and say something for your own piece of mind, and know you said what you wanted to say, instead of being passive. I had a negative experience on my second night in hospital. I was able to give written feedback online about this (the DHB sends everyone a feedback form) and said what I thought about it, at hospital too!

• Having a support person stay in hospital with you, and if possible, every night. It makes a huge difference to your mental health. Nurses and midwives cannot always come straight away to lift your baby and help, and sometimes they don’t actually help in the way you want them to, and that’s important. But it definitely helps having your own support crew to lend a hand and advocate for you if need be.