My body has always been broken. I was born with isoimmune neonatal thrombocytopenia which meant that after my mother’s c/section, I was monitored closely, given dozens of needles and tests, followed by a six month course of steroids which knocked out my immune system completely, forcing my parents to keep me home.
When I was two years old, my mother nearly succeeded in killing me. I lost up to a third of my blood volume, was left with a tracheostomy tube in my throat and a hoarse, raspy voice which slowly returned weeks after the attack. I would go on to have further operations over the years, until I finally had the tracheostomy removed at age 14.
During my childhood, I was homeschooled. Even so, I often spent weeks sick in the winter, a victim of the cold air going straight into my lungs through the tracheostomy and my own weak immune system. As a teenager attending school, I was often asked if I was asthmatic, as my harsh breathing noises scared those around me after sporting events. Over the years I developed a needle phobia and would close my eyes and demand someone distracted me as tried to calm my anxiety during any shots or blood draws.
My mother had given birth by c/section and my own awareness of birth was minimal. Although I knew that giving birth naturally was the safest option, I also expected that I’d need all the drugs and possibly a c/section.
The first three months of pregnancy were so full of throwing up that I ended up in hospital. When I told the nurse that the IV insertion hurt, she looked at me, shook her head and said:
For the first two trimesters, my husband refused to get excited about the baby, telling me that he was worried about how upset I’d be if I lost the baby after getting too attached.
I read everything I could, making a birth plan, planning to birth upright and do delayed cord clamping. But I still expected and deeply feared the worst.
I went a week past my due date and still my body wasn’t ready for birth. My baby was sitting high and my cervix was clamped shut.
Finally at 41 weeks and 1 day, I went into labor. I didn’t believe it at first and I continued not to believe it as I arrived at the hospital and four hours later, had a beautiful 8 pound 4 daughter while standing up in the shower. Other than a few puffs of gas, I’d refused any pain relief that looked anything like a needle and given birth despite the pain, with no problems.
I was too exhausted at the time but every day that passed after her birth, I felt happier. I felt strong, resilient. My body was not broken and a surgeon didn’t need to rescue my baby. I’d done it.
The feeling stayed with me and gave me new perspective on what I could achieve. It was the push I needed to start going after my dreams, to get help from a trauma psychologist and to begin an entirely new career, write online, and become an activist. While some people find their births something necessary but painful, I found mine painful but incredibly healing.
Yes, birth isn’t always perfect. But with the right support team, it can also be an amazing way to reconnect with how resilient your body truly is and what it’s capable of, despite what it’s been through.
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