It is often said that the heart wants what it wants. I would say that this is certainly true when it comes to the maternal desire that exists deep within us. Especially those of us who have longed to be called “Mom” for as long as we can remember. Those who have always dreamed of having a big, happy, healthy family. Kicker? Life is not always what we imagine it to be. . . Beginning with the advent of life itself. We can plan and prepare for our birth experience so that it goes smoothly, but sometimes, the best laid plans go awry. Sometimes birth can be traumatic, leaving us with nostalgia, mourning, and longing. We are caught between a rock and a hard place. Yet we still longed for another child.
Longing for another child amid uncertainty
Here is my experience trying to have another baby after a birth injury:
The beginning of my motherhood journey
As one of four myself, I always swear I will At least I have three or four children myself. For years I’ve dreamed of having a full table at dinner. I imagined all the fun we would have on our “extended family” minivan road trip. But I never stopped to consider the limitations my body could—and would—ultimately place on those desires.
When it was finally my turn to prepare for the arrival of my first child, I thought I was ready. Specifically, I think I am as prepared as possible for textbook delivery. After all, I read books, listened to podcasts, and worked with doulas. . . What could go wrong? It turns out a lot does. Indeed.
After a very intense labor and a slow heart rate, I gave birth to my first child via emergency C-section. She was on oxygen for the first eight minutes of her life, and after our brief introduction, she was taken to the NICU for a brief checkup before being brought back to me. This is not the story I imagined my birth would be, but it could have been a lot worse. Indeed.
I was not able to witness the arrival of my son
A year and a half later, my second living child was born at 33 weeks without any warning, rhyme or reason. I woke up in the middle of the night in labor and told my husband that either our baby was about to be born or something was wrong. When my first child was born at 41 weeks 1 day, I didn’t notice the prematurity at all until I suddenly fell into it.
By the grace of God we made it to the hospital in time and I was rushed down the corridor and onto a triage bed in active labor. . . Only to be fully discharged under general anesthesia for another emergency C-section. This time, it was also due to deceleration. But I had to miss my son’s birth because I didn’t have time to get an epidural or spinal tap. I remember it took me five minutes of effort before the doctor on call told me he needed to get me into treatment immediately. I begged the surgical team to put me down and get my baby out, and I woke up shaking, pale and confused. Soon after, I discovered that I was experiencing stage three postpartum hemorrhage.
I lost about half my body’s blood volume that day and spent about 12 hours receiving transfusions of blood, platelets, and plasma. I didn’t meet my little, strong, brave baby in the NICU until more than 24 hours after he was born. When I was allowed to be wheeled into the NICU, I could only stay for a few minutes. I was sick, weak, but still fighting. I needed to go back to the empty nursery. (Which is ironic, by the way, when there is absolutely no baby in the room.) I need to get back under the inflatable heated blanket I used to be under all night and all day. I had to say to my newborn baby, “See you in a few hours.” Somehow he seemed to be doing much better than me as he lay alone in his bed in the NICU.
The effects of birth trauma extend far beyond birth
In the days following my son’s unexpected early arrival, I focused on the positive. (Frankly, it felt like death all the time.) He was very healthy and strong during the pregnancy. 5 pounds, 1 ounce, to be exact. Aside from simple oxygen support and a feeding tube, his journey to the NICU began smoothly. My milk is coming out. I was able to walk to the bathroom on my own. I am getting closer to being reunited at home with my daughter (my first child). “Everything is fine,” I assured concerned family and friends through quick Facetime calls and text messages. But in fact, that’s not the case.
In fact, I went into violent preterm labor with no known cause or prior signs. I struggled with crazy contractions and didn’t have a second to process everything. I also quickly lost consciousness on the operating table and woke up to find that I had lost an incredible amount of blood. All the while, my incredibly strong newborn was fighting for herself. without me.
In addition to the units of blood I received at the hospital, a few days of “recovery” spent in an unusually quiet room, and prescription-grade iron supplements for the next few months, I expected to recover from severe postpartum hemorrhage, It’s like everything is the same as always. The fact is, there is nothing as always.
My experience changed me—and my lifelong dream of having a big family. When I finally got up the courage to read the note on my delivery record, I realized how serious everything was. I never understood why my son was born when he was. I was only told that any future pregnancies, which were expected to result in a caesarean section, would be at high risk for similar complications. Be prepared for another premature birth and therefore another admission to the neonatal intensive care unit. I’m also grappling with the possibility of bleeding again. That’s when the worst-case scenario came to mind. With two kids at home to look after, I wasn’t sure how much more risk I could take.
Decisions after birth trauma are impossible
Although I am not suitable to have a third child now, my heart still longs for another child. Or maybe two. . . But because of my history, I know this is wishful thinking. I never wanted to have a C-section in the first place and certainly didn’t want to have a second one. If one day I choose to have another child, I will also choose to take the risks that come with a third child.
Yes, I am grateful that my children made it here safely, and I know they would not have made it here without the help of doctors. Even so, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t heartbroken by how things turned out. I still long for one day to have another child. But I can’t say for sure whether this decision was wise or too risky. It was a total gamble given my birth trauma and history. Looking ahead, always. It’s painful.
Desire for another child after birth trauma can be difficult
Honestly, going through birth trauma sucked, and no amount of preparation for possible future pregnancies gave me complete confidence that my body could protect my baby and me. No amount of reassurance from the best doctors can eliminate the “what ifs,” flashbacks, and fears. No amount of encouragement from well-meaning others and their “at least you and your baby are okay” comments could really comfort me. No amount of “well, you have two healthy kids, that’s all that matters” could take away the longing in my heart for another child. Another baby to snuggle with, another chance to carry life inside of me, another best little friend for my daughter and son to grow with other children.
No amount of optimism can cover up the darkness of birth trauma – because birth trauma yes Total darkness. Honestly, I don’t think we talk about this enough. The reality of it all is this: going through it is painful. The longing was just as painful after giving birth to another child.
