My baby had been in an optimal position most of my pregnancy. I wasn’t worried because I’d prayed, “Baby, I command you head down, face down, left side facing. You’ll come out that way, without complications, in the name of Jesus.”
But at the hospital, the doctor believed the hang-up was that my baby was sunny side up (posterior facing). He was positioned head down, but sometime during labor, he turned his face toward my belly instead of my back. A woman can give birth sunny side up, but it's usually painful, and often, the baby can get stuck in the mother's pelvis, especially if she's small-framed. It also usually includes terrible back labor. Amazingly, I didn't have any, which makes me think he must've turned at the last minute.
“I hate to tell you this, but you need a c-section,” the doctor said.
Drugs and devastation surged through me.
A c-section was opposite of everything I'd prayed for. The only surgery I'd ever had was the removal of my wisdom teeth. And now I had to face my baby being cut out of me because, in my mind, I wasn't capable of doing what the Lord had designed women to do.
In America, c-sections are common. Having read the statistics and knowing that it’s common for doctors to pressure women into them, I knew I never wanted one. C-sections are major abdominal surgery. And the longer you labor before a c-section, the longer and harder your recovery.
There are some interesting mentalities surrounding them. Some people think mothers opt for the procedure simply because it’s easier. Maybe some do. A friend told me her sister-in-law, who had a natural home birth, believed no one should ever have a c-section, no matter what. People on both sides think their way is the only way.
As adamantly as I was against one for myself, and as much as I believe many c-sections are unnecessary, I have to say, until you’re in that situation, fatigued to your max, passing in and out of consciousness, no one else’s opinion matters.
I hadn't submitted to a hospital's timetable or any doctor's vacation schedule. I'd labored at home, like I wanted, for as long as I could. The doctor said that after my epidural, I'd gone from fully dilated to only halfway dilated and that my hour of rest wouldn't be enough to birth my baby spontaneously. I knew epidurals often stalled labor, but I also knew my body, and considering I couldn't feel half of it or stay awake, I reluctantly agreed.
I've gone back and forth about this decision a hundred times. Had I known what lay ahead, would I have called upon Heaven harder, choked down some food for an energy burst, and mustered up the supernatural power to do what I had intended to do in the first place? Probably not. The longer I waited, the more stress I'd put on my baby, and I just needed my baby out safely and asap.
Giving birth can be the weirdest thing in that way. It was happening to me, but at the same time, I had to remove myself from it. It became completely out of my control in a way nothing ever has.
Before I entered surgery, I prayed over my baby, my body, my doctors, and my nurses. I was surprised by how at peace I was with all of it.
In case you don’t know, a c-section is performed under local anesthesia. My mind was allowed to think while I was being cut open. I was numb from the top of my belly to my toes, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel anything. At the mercy of doctors and nurses I didn't know, all I could do was pray for the Lord's protection.
When they held my baby up to the plastic drape, I was reminded that God had heard me, that I had heard Him. He had been with me all along. Ultimately, it didn't matter how my baby was born. It only mattered that it happened. The operating room erupted in celebration at the reveal of my baby's gender, and all of Heaven with Charlie and I rejoiced in what we already knew.