1%

1%.  You don't think about the 1% risk in anything until it happens to you.

Choosing a delivery plan seemed like a secondary decision at the time.  I was honestly more concerned about my plan for who was going to take care of Sydney when we went to the hospital. Sydney was breech and was born via cesarean years prior.  Our second pregnancy was routine, best case scenario, in fact.  Baby Kate was healthy, I felt great, tired, and huge.  My doctor was very informative, upfront, and positive about the potential of a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean). This was our plan all along, as long as it was safe and best for mom and baby.

My water broke at 39 weeks, the morning of our planned dr visit to discuss our delivery options...  Ironic, huh. Arriving at the hospital, all was routine, normal, as it should have been.  An interesting piece of my story is that one of my closest friends delivered Kate. She was in her chief residency year at the hospital and knew our family well. Having Tara there through the process, before, during, and after, was, and has been, incredibly comforting. I'll fast forward through the 20 hour day until that night.  It was time to push.  I tried to push, what you feel like pushing is with an epidural.  And it's the most intense few minutes of your life as a new mom... This moment of anticipation and pure exhaustion and fear and nerves... and then the pain started.  It was in a specific place- sharp, and intense. This pain succeeded the epidural.  Unknown to me at the moment, it was not labor pain, it was something much worse. Tara realized sweet baby Kate was a big girl, over 9 lb. big, and needed some assistance coming out. A few pushing attempts later and Kate was born! Beautiful, healthy, full head of hair.  Tara handed her to me to hold on my chest and it was then that I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hold her, I could barely look at her.  (I'll revisit this moment later.)  I looked up at Tara and said there's something wrong.  I'm in pain.  Sam and nurses whisked Kate away and my doctors quickly examined.  Seconds later, I was being prepped for the OR.  I don't remember much about these moments, but I know there was 15 minutes.  15 minutes between Kate's first breath of life and me nodding off in the OR.  My uterus had ruptured.  There is a 1% chance of a uterine rupture during a VBAC. So unlikely, so rare, and it was me.  I woke up to a blue sheet.  I tell friends that I saw blue and heard voices and I thought I was either in heaven or the OR.  Then I heard Tara's voice, that familiar sweet voice, who reassured me everything was okay.  That is a defining moment for me thinking of this day.  Someone you know and trust telling you that you made it and everything is okay.  My uterus ruptured across, up, over.  It was bad. The amount of blood loss was also bad.  Choosing 2 blood transfusions was imperative for my recovery to speed up and to even have the option of nursing. Sparing the details I hardly know myself, my doctors saved my life that day, along with my newborn daughter.

A 5 day hospital stay followed.  Physical, emotional, mental, spiritual battles then followed every day those first few weeks.  Can I stand up?  Can I hold my child?  Can I nurse?  Can I shower? How many people do I let help me?  How do I ever thank my husband for all he has done?  How do I ever express my gratitude to my parents for being there?  Will I ever feel like myself again? Why did this happen to me, God? and then... Why spare me, God?

Some of these questions came moments later, others followed weeks and months later.  That's what happens when one experiences a severe, traumatic moment in life. One of my traumatic memories that replays in my head is the moment I held Kate for the first time and I couldn't freeze that beautiful moment in time.  I was in so much pain and mid rupture, I couldn't be present in that moment.  That made me more sad than the surgery to follow.  This was a moment I so looked forward to, the moment people post pictures of, and write songs about.  And I was too pain stricken to hold her.  What trumps that moment is all of the times I get to hold her now- rocking, cuddling, playing, watching her smile and learn and grow. I get all of those!  So, sure her delivery was not as I hoped for or planned.  But, the goal of a delivery is for a healthy baby to be brought into this world.  And that was accomplished. The wonderful thing about my traumatic experience is that... it produced life.  Our pastor talked today about scars.  And how scars are proof there was once a wound and now it is healed.  That healing happens because of Jesus. I have a 5" scar across my lower torso. It's healed as expected and no one will see it, but it's there and there isn't a day that goes by I don't know it, see it, feel it.  But oh my goodness, it produced life. 2 lives.  My beautiful baby Kate and my spunky Sydney.  I have scars from Kate's birth. Physical and emotional scars. They are big and ugly and will always be there. I also have life that I get to hold and kiss and witness grow every day.  That is absolutely amazing. From pain, there is Hope. Love. Life. Thank you, Lord, for this precious gift.