The very unplanned birth of my child [Part 3].

This birth report is a three-part blog article. Here you can read the first part of Merle's birth report.

Our golden baby had - and I'm incredibly grateful for this, especially because I'm realizing more and more how lucky I was - no adjustment issues whatsoever other than a little difficulty maintaining temperature, and was able to stay with me the entire time. I attribute a lot of that to the contractions, and that's one of the reasons I'm so grateful to have had some. The following days were very trying, for very different and varied reasons. Probably almost all new moms feel this way, but the first night I didn't close my eyes for a minute and kept staring at the tiny jackknife baby on my belly. Our Smartie was 50 cm tall, weighed a light 2090 grams and folded his legs permanently stretched out high to the head, which was due to the pelvic end position. So this was mine now. Ok.

At some point, the pain of the c-section scar and incredible back pain (it was almost worse than the incision pain) came, which then prevented me from sleeping. The terribly uncomfortable bed that I, as a stomach sleeper, now had to sleep on my back (for another whole four weeks!), the light that was always on, the people who constantly came into the room and my bedmate crying in pain didn't make the situation any better. The day after surgery a physical therapist came in and seriously wanted me to get up, I sent her away quite indignant (I'm sure it wasn't the first time this had happened to her) and wondered if anyone actually manages to get up that fast. When she came in the next day, I still found it unimaginable, but then I tried and I got better very quickly, much better. By day three, I could actually shower again and finally felt like a human being again. The pain in the scar became more and more bearable, I stopped taking painkillers already on day two after the birth and was able to cope with it, even though it still hurt brutally, of course.

It was also brutal with the infant feeding. I don't know if it was due to the low birth weight of our baby or if it is always handled this way in the clinic, but I felt there was a lot of fuss (not to say: a lot of pressure) about breastfeeding right from the start. I found it really stressful and I really had the milk shot super fast. I imagine it came right on the first morning and with it two breasts filled to bursting, which looked like a silicone experiment gone terribly wrong. But who am I telling... Well, anyway, I had tons of milk, which I then pumped on both sides after the recommendation of one of the nurses on the ward, in order to provide relief for my aching breasts. I really felt like a milk cow. The only problem was that my child didn't drink my milk.

The nurses didn't hold back for a second in urgently recommending breastfeeding caps (actually, it sounded more like I had no other choice), which I pretty much refused to use for the life of me because I had heard so many bad things about them and simply didn't want to give up trying the "normal" way. Finally we tried it with syringe and tube and then - finally more or less successfully - with a small cup. So all in all, our breastfeeding start was pretty bumpy, especially since the cupping was also frustrating as heck for me. Fortunately, my husband was better at getting my milk into our tiny baby. With me, everything just kept going wrong. And even though it worked pretty well in the end and our sweetie soon started drinking well at my breast, the pressure kept coming. Not only from the nurses on the ward, but also from the pediatrician, who told me in a rather indignant tone that I had to feed my child more, that he was already digesting himself, that I only had to smell him and then you would clearly hear the smell of acetone. That was on day three. The fact that I did everything possible did not seem to occur to this woman. The child had lost weight, yes. 120 grams, yes. When we were discharged on day five, however, the child already weighed 2060 g again, which is only just below birth weight.

But it was not to remain with this one ignominy. As already mentioned, the golden child had slight problems with keeping his body temperature at a constant (and above all desirable level). Therefore he had a warm bed. During the five days of inpatient stay, he was in it for ten minutes at the most, namely exactly when I had to go to the bathroom and daddy wasn't there to hold him. The rest of the time, our little heart was either directly on my chest or occasionally with daddy (who was also supposed to get some bonding). This was also the case at night. Now one night I woke up completely disoriented because it was terribly loud in our room. I looked around and saw that there was a baby lying on my chest. Hmm... That was crying. Hmm... What to do! Breastfeed it? It didn't want to. Then it must have wanted to be changed. I rang for whoever. Someone came. A night nurse whom I did not know and who did not introduce herself to me. After I told her what the situation was, she took my baby, determined he didn't need to be changed, and put him back on my chest. Nastily, my new pet just stopped crying and the night nurse said in a rather snippy tone, "Well, sometimes little ones just want to be with their mommy!". Then she left and left me completely speechless and deeply affected. I will never forget this moment.

But we were lucky that our offspring hurried to adapt to the local conditions and so we were finally allowed to go home after only five days. With one and a half liters of pumped milk (none of which was older than three days. I think the milk cow comparison was actually quite apt...) and a prescription to borrow a breast pump. Maybe I shouldn't have listened to my postpartum midwife and filled the prescription, there might have been another huge deal to be made. #IsHumanMilkActuallyForVegansEthicallySustainable?:) Well, missed chance.

To slowly get to the end: Me and my little sprout have been insanely lucky, because it could have gone so incredibly much worse. Actually, any whining is on a high level and yet it is so that even now - almost two years after the events - at least once a week I complain about how it went. What if I had just refused to have the C-section? What if I had just gone to the PA, even though I knew they didn't want me? What if the midwife had come in a half hour later to take me to the OR? I know that natural birthing in breech presentation is not recommended until the baby weighs 2kg, my baby was just over that, but didn't all signs point to it going well? I often get angry at the hospital because the obstetricians there don't learn how to handle natural births in special cases like us, yet there is no greater risk here at all (assuming, of course, that those involved know what to do). Whenever my child coughs, I'm afraid that the C-section is now to blame for my child having asthma or something else (but it doesn't, it was just talked about once), after all, we've already been hospitalized twice in the children's hospital with it. Very often I wish for a second birth, simply to make the first one better. But what if it all goes so wrong again? What if it gets even worse? I firmly believe that it can be good and that I can cope with a natural birth, because I know that the contractions in the opening phase were bearable even when lying down and that this phase only lasted a short time. But what if it should be different? Will I break? And this overwhelming motherly love feeling that so many mothers talk about, will that come when I have made it? Or is there perhaps no such thing? Am I disappointed then? Can I handle it then? One thing is certain for me: I will do everything possible to experience a completely self-determined and wonderful home birth.

The cover picture comes from pixabay.com.