One baby, extra caesarean, hold the VBAC
When I was 26 weeks pregnant with Kara, my uterus measured a perfect 26 centimeters. So when people questioned the appropriateness of my size, I just repeated what my doctor told me: the baby was healthy and doing just fine. I kept the meaner, gutter-language retorts to myself.
Here's photographic evidence of Kara and me at the 26-week mark:
...And here I am yesterday morning, 26 weeks in with Baby Brother, just a couple of hours before my monthly prenatal appointment, where he measured a whopping THREE weeks ahead of schedule:
I know. Kara can't believe it, either. See her look of disbelief? She's all, "Who does this kid think he is, showing me up before he's even outside? I'M the miracle-size baby. Just let him TRY to top my birth weight!"
(Um, sweetheart, let's not encourage him.)
What to say to the haters now? There's no denying it: I look huge and I feel huge. The doctor wasn't concerned, but when I told her I wanted remove this boy from my uterus via a planned c-section, she didn't bat an eye, just asked for my date of choice and verified with the doctor scheduled to be on call that day (the doctor who performed Kara's surgery, no less). I've spent more time ordering beef low mein than it took to schedule the birth of my son. And the noodles weren't even that good.
For those not in the know, I've written a couple of times about forgoing a VBAC on my Parents blog, but to document it here on my personal site, I'll share my thought process again. At last month's appointment, I asked the doctor for her opinion regarding whether or not attempting a vaginal birth was a good idea for me. There are five ob/gyns in my practice, and each time I see one, I throw that question out there just to see if everyone's on the same page. And when it comes to supporting a woman's right to VBAC, they are; nobody ever said I couldn't try for one. However, this doctor was the second one to recommend another c-section (my primary ob was the first). She listed Kara's size as one factor, which I knew was still mind-boggling to everyone there; so much so, in fact, that at yesterday's appointment I took my glucose challenge test two weeks early to make sure my body isn't harboring a secret case of gestational diabetes. The other issue was the risk of uterine rupture, a rare but life-threatening condition I'll allow Wikipedia to explain to you. It sounds just lovely.
Anyway, the idea of attempting labor and then deciding Baby Brother was too big to deliver vaginally was never a big deal to me; I wasn't worried about pain because I knew I'd get the epidural again, and the possibility of avoiding surgery was worth risking an unsuccessful trial of labor. It's the uterine rupture thing that's always been a hard pill to swallow. Once I learned from my doctor that the risk of rupture increases when births are fewer than two years apart, there was no question in my mind that for me, a c-section is the way to go. My kids will barely be ONE year apart as it is; hell no am I counting on the strength of an abdominal scar that only had a few months to heal before it was subjected to another pregnancy.
I applaud women who have the confidence to attempt a VBAC. I think it's wonderful that the old adage "Once a c-section, always a c-section" no longer applies. I'm proud of myself for even considering it. But in the end, it's just not for me. So Baby Brother's birth day is officially on the books: Thursday, February 5, 2009, 8 a.m. My plan is to wrap up work the Friday before and spend the first half of that week freaking out about having my second baby, a baby I STILL can't believe exists in the first place. Mark your calendars and hold onto your hats.
As if this post weren't already chock full of meaty content, I also talked to my doctor about birth control after Baby Brother's extraction--something I obviously didn't pay much attention to after Kara. I'm not interested in methods that turn my uterus into a poo-poo environment on the off chance ovulation were to occur; once the life process is in motion, I don't want to mess with that. But I am interesed in sidestepping it for a bit while Luke and I figure out if we want to have more children. Just for kicks, I asked my doctor about having my tubes tied during my caesarean, but since I'm delivering at a Catholic hospital, it's not even an option. Which is fine--I'm not sure how I feel about permanently ending my childbearing years before I'm 30--but I'm not sure I'd ever be up for another pregnancy, either. My doctor recommended Mirena, which sounds great except it doesn't meet my uterus-friendly criteria, and she also mentioned Essure, a procedure that's just as permanent as a tubal but without all the surgery. Also great, if we decide that we're Done.
In the end, Luke and I will probably just use condoms until my cycle regulates itself and I can trust the calendar to tell me when I'm ripe for the picking (thank you, Taking Charge of Your Fertility). It obviously worked before Kara, seeing as we were able to conceive her the minute we stopped avoiding relations on my "high-trigger" days. Baby Brother's conception had nothing to do with botched birth control and everything to do with "Ha! There's no way that could happen to me." A hard lesson to learn, for we all know how well THAT turned out:
Not that I would have it any other way, of course.








































