(Foss is a freelance writer from Northern Virginia. This article courtesy of the Arlington Catholic Herald.)
I prayed for a healthy recovery. Truthfully, my recovery has taken much longer this time. But God has provided an angel in our midst. Every day, for the last two weeks, my friend Barbara has come to take care of me, my children, and my home. She has nurtured me and steadied me. She has offered me perspective on so many aspects of my life and my home that I am filled with a renewed sense of hope and vision for our family as we incorporate this precious new soul into our lives. I never would have accepted this much help if I hadn’t had a Cesarean section. I am far too independent to give up that kind of control. However, I’m not the same person I was before this baby’s birth. Now, I am ready to relinquish control and embrace grace. But God knew that; it was all part of His birth plan.
Every day, several times a day, I prayed for a healthy baby, a quick and healthy delivery, and a healthy recovery. I prayed the prayer with full faith that our Lord hears and answers our prayers. When I prayed, I envisioned a birth much like the one I experienced two years ago: a quick, nearly painless delivery followed by quiet bonding time in a dimly lit birthing room and a restful recovery at home. The truth is, I love labor and delivery and I was looking forward to a birth much like the ones I had already experienced. I wrote out my birth plan in great detail, discussed it with my midwife, and provided additional copies for the labor and delivery staff. I knew what I wanted and I was going to take all necessary steps to get it.
The week before my seventh baby was born, I wrote in this space “I haven’t spent too much time thinking about labor and delivery this time. It’s not the big unknown that it was in the past. I know that every labor is different and that I’m as prepared as I can be. Instead, my thoughts are full of babies.” Before the column went to print, my baby was born.
Her birth was not at all what I envisioned. At a routine prenatal appointment, I learned that she was a ballerina — her head was held high, her right leg extended completely and her left leg drawn up to the opposite knee. Though I was not in labor, I had made significant progress towards the quick delivery I always experienced. This time, however, that was not a good thing. The baby’s position was so unfavorable that any labor at all probably would have resulted in a life-threatening situation. Every medical professional in the office that day advised one thing: immediate Cesarean section.
In all honesty, there was no decision to make. My husband and I were fully prepared to do whatever it took to protect our little girl. But that didn’t keep the emotions from rushing fiercely through my soul. The last time I had surgery, I had cancer. Ghosts were present in that operating room and fear lurked in every corner. Jousting for position with fear was disappointment. I prayed with intensity throughout the surgical preparation. This was not going to be the birth I’d planned.
The surgery went beautifully. It lasted about an hour and proved to be my quickest delivery yet. My little girl is the most beautiful, pink bundle I’ve ever seen — perfectly healthy and safe in my arms. I confronted my hospital fears and lived to tell the tale. In the days following Kirsten’s birth, I spent much time sorting through my emotions.
As an advocate and teacher of natural childbirth, I had always been aware that unmedicated birth is an empowering experience. Women who labor and deliver without intervention often believe that through the use of mind-body coping techniques, they have control over birth. To some degree, that is true. In reality, the control is very limited, though. While we go through the motions of visualizing birth and writing birth plans, it is God who ultimately is the author of a child’s birth story. It is God who is in control. A Cesarean birth makes that fact plainly clear.
In the hours after Kirsten was born, my father, my mother-in-law, and my husband told me how proud they were of me. Still numb from the chest down and barely able to hold my baby, I kept repeating, “I didn’t do anything. This time, I didn’t do anything.” My dad told me again and again, “But you did. You really did.”
Several days later, those words sunk in. Of course, I had nurtured my daughter for nine months prior to her birthday and of course, I had ultimately made a decision to have surgery to protect her (though that was a no-brainer). But I had done more than that. I had relinquished all control; I had even relinquished all illusion of control. I had said, “let it be done to me” instead of “let me do it.”
We don’t pray to change God’s mind. We pray to change our souls. Our prayers won’t alter His birth plan; they will help us find peace with that plan. The ultimate prayer is “Thy will be done.” That prayer is answered when we find peace with His will. I prayed and prayed for a quick, safe delivery. I got it. And I got a lot more. I got the biggest lesson in “letting go and letting God” I’ve ever had.
