I was 22 when I gave birth to my twin sons, Kyle and Derrick. My pregnancy went amazingly well. I cried at this insurance commercial with a deer and fawn, ate 4,000 calories a day, took care of my (then) nearly 2 year old son Chance and dealt with living with my (now ex) in-laws.
I had an OB that I thought was taking good care of me. She was like having an extra mom. She even advocated for me when my FIL attempted to limit the amount of milk I drank (we lived with him at the time). She told him I was to be allowed to drink as much milk as I pleased. She was always gentle and understanding during my pregnancy. Near the end she had me going to the hospital every other week for non-stress tests. They hooked me up and watched to be sure the babies were alright. The weeks in between non-stress tests were ultrasounds. The boys stayed heads down, so my doctor said I could do a vaginal birth (thanks doc, I'm so glad I got your green light!).
My due date quickly approached and my doctor started getting antsy. After an ultrasound I was told my uterus was showing signs of stress, and I needed to be induced. I was scheduled to be induced on Monday, April 13, 1998. Over the weekend before the induction I felt good. I shot a few hoops in the backyard (badly, since my huge belly got in the way), ate very well, and slept on my side with little trouble. Anticipation got me up early on Monday, and away we went to the hospital.
They started me on pitocin at around 7am, and I was only dilated to 1 or 2cm. I was only a few days off from my predicted due date. I grew to hate the nurse as she came in to increase the pitocin at regular intervals. The pain was so intense (pitocin is a vile thing!) I begged for an epidural. It was not placed properly, so the help it gave was minimal. Instead of realizing this, they hooked me to the bottle and said I had a high tolerance for it.
Fast forward to 4pm. I was fully dilated and ready to push, so they wheeled me into the OR... just in case. I pushed 7 pound Kyle out within 20 mins. That was easy! Then Derrick turned. The stage had been set for disaster. I was unable to move, so gravity could not help me get Derrick out... I doubt the doctor would've allowed that anyway. They prefer their victims lying prone and helpless. My doctor did try to reach up into me to grab Derrick, but he was still in his amniotic sac, and was too slippery. I'm not sure how long she was fishin' for baby, but it seemed Derrick wasn't fond of what she was up to, so his heart rate went up. That was it! The doctor said he would have to come by cesarean. The anesthesiologist administered more of the epidural (still unaware it wasn't placed right), and the doctor started cutting. OUCH! I felt it! I told her she was hurting me, so she told the anesthesiologist to administer a spinal block (in the same misplaced catheter). She started cutting again. OUCH! I felt that! I told her so and started panicking. I heard my heart rate thudding away on the monitor. I was also scared for Derrick. My doctor started arguing with the anesthesiologist about what to do next. They decided to put me under general when Derrick's heart rate rose even more (could he have been feeling the same panic I was?). I remember the mask coming down over my face... then black. Derrick was born by cesarean section 40 minutes after his brother Kyle weighing 6lbs 7oz.
A couple of hours later I awoke in the recovery room. I felt so cold. I shook violently and heard my husband's panic as he sought a nurse, who nonchalantly told him it was "normal". I felt like the woman in the magic trick that was accidentally sawed in half. The feeling got worse over the next several hours. I refused to get up when the nurses attempted to get me to use the bathroom. I got them to catheterize me the first couple of times. My bladder was so full they needed more than one bedpan for it all the first time. I didn't care. Nothing was getting me to move. Ordinarily a catheter isn't the first choice in comfort, but I honestly didn't feel it. The pain I felt far outweighed that minor discomfort. I quickly turned into a Motrin/Tylenol with codeine addict. If my nurses were 5 minutes late on my drugs I was on the speaker in desperation.
Should I be grateful the hospital staff didn't bother trying to make me bottle feed my boys? I had a great lactation consultant from the WIC office that came to the hospital to help me. Maybe she kept those particular wolves at bay. I spent 5 luxurious days in the hospital after the delivery. Couldn't wait to get out of there! The constant poking/prodding/uterus massaging (more like bashing) was all getting to me. Getting the staples removed wasn't a picnic either.
I spent the next 2 months in varying degrees of discomfort. I had been given the complimentary episiotomy for Kyle's delivery, and it was severe enough to make me think twice about pooping. I don't know if I was genuinely constipated or just in fear of the bleeding and crying a bowel movement brought, but that lasted about 6 weeks. I made sure to go to the bathroom when my boys were all sleeping. Since we were still living with my in-laws, I had to clench my fists and bite my tongue to keep from audibly crying out in pain. I felt ashamed of the condition. I had also developed an infection that required antibiotics. The smell from my incision got me to seek help on at least that.
Yes I have healthy boys, but healthy mom AND babies is important. I feel the way I was treated actually put my twins in MORE DANGER than letting nature take it's course and my body to do it's job. Did I ever fully recover from the twin birth? NO. Will I ever? NO. Some scars never heal. Why does my section scar STILL itch 13 years later? Maybe it's the fact that it's a bikini-cut cesarean (like my belly is bikini material now lol!). Do I think the doctor wronged me? Absolutely. I feel I was wronged right from the induction on. Never let doctors treat you like a piece of meat. Question them. If you don't like the answer seek another opinion! After it was all said and done I collected all the statements from my hospital stay (Keep in mind this was back in 1998). I totaled the costs to my insurance, and it was over $20,000! At least we only had a $250.00 copay, but they sure made a pretty penny!
I'm happy to say I had a successful VBAC delivery on July 29, 2008 for my 8lb 8oz daughter Madeleine. That's another story...