The "one day" that lasts a lifetime.

The summer I was pregnant with McGee, I was set to perform in a community production of "Birth" as part of a Birth On Labor Day event. I played a woman who was bullied into an unnecessary c-section, and one of my character's many poignant lines was, "Birth is just one day, right?" I recall being in rehearsals, listening to the words I was speaking, and musing to myself about how very lucky I was. I was lucky to know better than to put my faith into some random OB, I was lucky to know two "amazing midwives," and I was lucky to be planning a home birth. I KNEW I would be spared a fate such as that.

Cut to December, and I was laboring hard but happily at my family's judo dojo. My "midwife," who I had been suspecting of incompetence for a few months, arrived and confirmed my fears. She left me on my own to attend another birth (one deemed more likely to be successful) and my mother sat me down to discuss going to the local hospital. I was terrified, but still - I was educated and confident... I KNEW I would turn down potentially dangerous interventions in my normal, healthy labor, and I KNEW I would have a normal birth.

My 12 hours of labor at the dojo were wonderful. I've never felt closer to my mother and father than I did that day. I felt powerful and capable, and while it isn't akin to a relaxing massage, it was never so ouchy that I lost faith in myself. The 15 hours of labor at the hospitals, however, were demoralizing. I spent most of that time fighting for my rights, and fighting for the safety of my son. In the end, the people fighting for me gave out of energy one by one, as we had all been awake more than 24 hours, and I was the only person left to advocate for me. So I caved... I signed away my birth, my son's safety, and my bodily integrity so the OB on call could feel more comfortable about his liability insurance.

The recovery was long and hard. I cried, I got angry, and I tried to take care of my precious newborn while in both physical and emotional pain. I have adhesions behind my scar, and numb spots left over from the epidural I didn't want... but those things will one day heal. For me, the most painful part of that day is the complete unwillingness or inability of those closest to me to comprehend why I'm still crying and angry.

To some of my inner circle of loved ones, because my child lived through the ordeal, I should just be thankful and "let it go." Some of them think I am mourning the loss of some spiritual experience I had built up in my head, others feel like a section is no more dangerous than having a tooth pulled, and still others feel as though I should be thankful I was cut (as clearly, an OB would NEVER do that unless there was a viable medical reason to do so).

But there wasn't a viable reason; we were healthy. He wasn't too big to birth, our heart rates were perfect, my blood pressure only went up when I was being harassed, and I never felt as though I needed pain management. McGee and I were a fabulous team, and were getting the job done! So, yes... I mourn not having given him the healthiest start in life. I mourn being laid out on a table and treated like a criminal. I mourn that someone reached into my body without my true consent because I was threatened and coerced into signing a form. But most of all, I feel guilty for not protecting my son at all costs.

It is a part of me, permanently written on my mangled flesh and seared into my heart. I didn't start out as a mother feeling powerful and capable. I started feeling weak, and like a failure. I felt taken advantage of, and like a victim. I still do. While I can rationally discuss it now, it is still a raw wound. Just this week I cried after finding out that the only birth center attempting to open in my city will not care for VBAC moms. So this ONE day has taken away the possibility of future birth center births.

So that character's words haunt me... As I prepare to celebrate my darling child's first birthday, that day last December stands out as both the best and worst day of my life... but it wasn't just ONE day.

The sting of being single

The other night I was blessed with the opportunity to have dinner with several family members. Little did I know before hand that the meal was to be both incredibly enjoyable as well as massively depressing!

First of all, it was cold out. While I'll pretty much take McGee anywhere I go, taking him out in the cold is particularly annoying as there is so much prep work involved with keeping him warm. So of course the parking lot is packed, which necessitates my walking half a mile in the cold with my heavy child asleep in his car seat... covered with my jacket, clearly. By the time I got through the doors I was freezing cold, my back was killing me, my hair was a mess, and I was ready for a nap.

As dinner progressed, there were subtle reminders that I was in a different boat than my beloved family members: once McGee awoke, I was that sterotypical flustered mom - you know the one; stressed, trying to get rid of the sling holding the car seat and get her kid into the high chair, all the while keeping him from crying, knocking things over. Yeah, that was me. I worked the whole meal to not only keep my son from disrupting the diners around us, but to attempt to catch snipets of the conversations going on at our table... not an easy task. It really did make me wish for a dedicated partner... someone who, out of love for me, would drop what he's doing and make it all a little easier.

The worst of the downer moments came while watching one of the couples with whom I sat be... well... shmoopey. They're shmoopey, and it makes the "single" in Single Mom even more apparent when I am around them. The woman in the couple did not, in fact, freeze en route to eat. She was deposited at the entrance while her loving partner parked the car and braved the cold. While eating, she got a chill and faster than one can say "doted upon" his jacket was wrapped around her shoulders. It was almost enough to make me ill, though because I love her so much, it also made me happy for her... I hate moments of mixed emotions!

Now, having complained about being single, I would like to point out that I believe wholeheartedly that it is better to be alone than with the wrong person. I prefer my current state of being to the alternative... but I do wish I were doing this in a partnership. I admire loving spouses who cater to and dote upon their loved ones. And I freakin' want one of my own... just, you know, the RIGHT one this time ;)

There was a moment towards the end of the meal that sort of reminded me to be thankful for what I have - after the jacket swapping took place, I realized that I was cold. It then occurred to me that both this man and myself had given up our jackets to our very favorite people. And somehow, knowing that my son adores me completely took the sting out of being single, if only just a little.