👶 C-Section or VBAC: A Personal Dilemma Before the birth of my second child, Van, who is now fourteen, I wrote this reflection. My thoughts were consumed by the looming decision regarding his delivery, a topic that held particular weight because his older sister, Zelda, had been born via Cesarean section. The experience with Zelda naturally led us to question the safest and best approach for the next delivery. The medical term that dominated our discussions was Vaginal Birth After C-section (VBAC). The prospect was alluring—the promise of a standard delivery and recovery—but it came with a significant degree of anxiety and risk. On the other hand, a planned repeat C-section offered a predictable, though major, surgical procedure.
Ultimately, after careful consideration and consultation with our doctors, Van was born via C-section in the end. This was a deliberate choice. A major factor in our decision was the estimate of his size; he was projected to be larger than Zelda was at birth. Given the potential complications associated with a larger baby and a VBAC—including the elevated risk of an emergency situation—we concluded that a scheduled C-section was the prudent and safest path forward for both me and for Van. Looking back, we remain confident that we made the best decision possible given the medical circumstances and information available to us at the time.
This period of deliberation was particularly intense, and a memory that solidified our choice came from a friend who was navigating the very same decision. Unlike us, she was determined to have a vaginal birth. Tragically, her attempt to deliver vaginally had a severe complication: the baby eventually had to be delivered via emergency C-section because her uterine scar ruptured. That outcome was a powerful, sobering reminder of the very real risks involved in a VBAC and served to validate our decision to proceed with a planned C-section for Van.
👶 C-Section or VBAC: A Personal Dilemma November 6, 2010 A Crossroads in the Journey: Weighing the Path for Baby Van
My husband, Devin, and I find ourselves at a significant and emotionally charged crossroads, desperately trying to discern the safest and most responsible path forward for the arrival of our new baby, Van. Devin, ever my rock, is completely wonderful and has expressed his contentment in leaving the ultimate decision to me. Yet, this freedom, while loving, leaves me utterly and completely torn between two very different medical routes. The core of my internal debate revolves around the stark reality that both a planned, repeat Cesarean section and the attempt at a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-section) carry distinct and real risks. This isn’t a theoretical concern; it’s rooted in our history. Our first child, our daughter Zelda, was born via an emergency C-section back in October 2009. Now, with Van due in January 2011, the pregnancies are undeniably close—separated by only fifteen months. This remarkably short inter-pregnancy interval is the single factor that haunts my thoughts, as I constantly worry about how it impacts the integrity of my uterine scar and, consequently, the safety of my decision.
My doctor has been a source of both extensive knowledge and, paradoxically, conflicting advice. Her insights are helpful, but they pull me in two different directions. On the one hand, she strongly suggested that a VBAC would be the preferable route if our family’s long-term vision includes having more children. It would reduce the accumulated risk of multiple major abdominal surgeries. On the other hand, she was quick to reassure me of the relative safety of repeat procedures, noting that I could safely have three C-sections, and we all know people who have gone on to successfully manage four!
This is where my deepest, most agonizing fear resides: the potential to inadvertently place Van in danger. The thought of pursuing a VBAC simply to preserve the option for a larger family down the road feels selfish if it means even a fraction of a percent increase in risk for my baby boy now. I am consumed by the singular desire to know, unequivocally, which of these two paths—a surgical birth or a trial of labor—offers the healthiest start for my baby boy. It’s a decision that feels too heavy to carry alone, and I would genuinely welcome any thoughts, shared experiences, or perspectives from others who have faced this delicate and difficult medical dilemma.
The Case for a Scheduled C-Section The decision to schedule the birth of our second child is overwhelmingly influenced by practical considerations, a choice that promises to significantly simplify our lives. The logistics surrounding Devin’s demanding job make a planned event almost a necessity; eliminating the uncertainty of when labor might strike ensures he can arrange his work schedule with confidence, minimizing potential disruption and stress for him. Furthermore, arranging childcare for our first daughter, Zelda, is greatly simplified. My cousin, who has graciously offered to help, would benefit immensely from a concrete date, allowing her to make firm plans without the anxiety of a last-minute emergency call.
Beyond the external logistics, scheduling a C-section offers a path to avoid the intense emotional and physical stress I experienced during Zelda’s birth. That spontaneous labor ultimately devolved into a frantic, emergency Cesarean section, a traumatic experience I am keen to prevent repeating. Since a medical induction, which was attempted with Zelda, is not an option this time, choosing a scheduled surgery provides a sense of control and predictability that a trial of labor simply cannot.
There are also encouraging assurances regarding the recovery process. I’ve been advised that a second C-section is often associated with a faster and easier recovery than the first. This is a considerable benefit in itself, but it also translates into a more extended period of approved time off work, a crucial factor for both my physical and mental recuperation.
The advantages of a planned surgery extend to the medical setting as well. A scheduled date means I can actively choose my preferred surgeon, ensuring continuity of care with a doctor I trust. The operating room environment will be calm, prepared, and routine, far removed from the rush, worry, and fear associated with a sudden, unscheduled emergency. We can walk into the hospital knowing exactly what to expect.
However, the weight of this decision rests on one major, permanent drawback. Committing to a scheduled C-section means accepting that a vaginal birth is no longer a possibility for me. Every future child we are blessed with will, by necessity, have to be delivered via Cesarean section. This single choice sets the course for all our future births.
The Appeal of a VBAC The upcoming delivery is consuming my thoughts, primarily because of the intense desire for a successful Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (VBAC). The very idea of achieving a vaginal delivery is tremendously exciting—it’s a deeply personal milestone that offers such freedom. A successful VBAC would finally open up the possibility of having more children in the future without the looming certainty of another major surgery every single time. It would mean that my family planning is dictated by nature and readiness, not by a surgeon’s calendar.
Beyond the long-term implications, I strongly believe a vaginal delivery will make the immediate postpartum period much easier to navigate. I vividly remember the grueling recovery from my first C-section; the incision pain, the inability to move easily, and the extended time before I truly felt like myself again. I imagine, and desperately hope, that the post-delivery pain following a VBAC won’t be nearly as intense or debilitating, allowing me to be more present and active with my newborn, Van.
Regarding the logistics of the delivery, I’ve made the firm decision to have an epidural. This was not a choice made lightly but was largely influenced by the medical advice I received. The doctors presented it as a crucial safety net: in the event that the trial of labor became unstable or if we encountered an emergency that necessitated a repeat C-section, they could simply administer additional anesthetic through the already-placed epidural line. This would eliminate the dangerous time delay of having to perform general anesthesia.
However, the single biggest factor driving my preference for a VBAC is the timing of the birth. A vaginal delivery allows Van to determine his own birthday, coming when his body and lungs are truly ready. I have a profound anxiety about the standard C-section protocol, which typically schedules the surgery a week or two earlier than the due date to prevent the onset of labor. I worry that this premature exit will deprive him of the final, necessary days or even weeks of development in the womb—time that is so vital for the maturation of his organs and systems. The thought of him coming out before he has reached his optimal readiness weighs heavily on me.
Conclusion I understand and deeply respect that the doctors and medical team are the experts, possessing the knowledge and experience to guide this process safely. Yet, despite their assurances and statistics, this choice feels so immense, so personal, and so loaded with emotional weight. It is not just a medical procedure; it is the gateway to my child’s life and a defining moment in my own journey as a mother. I am finding myself at a crossroads, balancing medical recommendations against my strong maternal instincts and deeply felt desires. More than anything, I am hoping to connect with other mothers who have walked this path—to hear what specific challenges they faced during their own VBAC attempts, what resources or conversations ultimately helped them find peace and certainty about their final decision, and how they reconciled the inherent risks with the profound reward. On January 17, 2011, I gave birth via-c-section to a healthy baby boy. He is not 14 years old and in the 8th grade.
In hushed whispers or a heartfelt plea, Prayer, a bridge unseen, yet meant to be. It floats on faith, a silent, feathered thing, To unseen ears, a message it can bring.
No padlock holds, no distance can confine, It slips through walls, a lifeline so divine. In sorrow’s depths, a flicker in the night, A spark of hope, a gentle, guiding light.
For burdens shared are lighter, that is true, But whispered prayers can mend a heart in two. It fills the soul with whispered, calming grace, A quiet strength to find a better space.
It holds no form, no color, nor a sound, Yet in its wake, a peace can be found. Like magic blooms, where worries used to cling, A fragile hope, on whispered prayer’s wing.
So let it rise, this magic yet unseen, A whispered word, a silent, trusting dream. For prayer’s soft touch, though subtle and unknown, Holds a power vast, to heal and make us whole.
My daughter Zelda read this book and is begging me to finish the next one! I am beyond blessed that she loved the book. What a Happy Mother’s Day present!
For a month now, a fire’s been burning in my gut. There’s something I need to say, especially to warn women, but wrestling with my own emotions has held me back. Here’s the thing: we’ve all heard it – listen to your body. Doctors might brush you off, but you know when something feels wrong. It’s your body, after all.
After my son was born, I expected some bleeding – it’s natural. It stopped for a while, but then started again. I wasn’t sure if this was normal postpartum bleeding or something else, so I decided to err on the side of caution.
My primary care doctor listened to my concerns about renewed bleeding after my son’s birth. They explained that since the bleeding stopped previously and didn’t feel like a period, it wasn’t likely related to postpartum recovery. Because the bleeding occurred only during bowel movements, they referred me to a gastroenterologist for further evaluation.
The colonoscopy revealed a number of polyps. They were removed and tested, with some showing precancerous signs, meaning they had the potential to become cancerous over time. This meant I needed regular colonoscopies to monitor my health.
This experience taught me a valuable lesson: listen to your body. If something feels off, don’t hesitate to talk to your doctor. And if they don’t take your concerns seriously, find a new doctor who will be your advocate.
A few years later, I noticed my menstrual periods were heavier than usual. Concerned, I made an appointment with my gynecologist. They explained that while having three C-sections can sometimes thicken the uterine lining, it wasn’t necessarily the cause of my heavy bleeding. To investigate further, they recommended an endometrial biopsy. It wasn’t as comfortable as a pap smear (which can cause some stinging), but it was a manageable procedure. The biopsy is a test where a small tissue sample is taken from the lining of the uterus to diagnose abnormalities. Thankfully, everything came back normal, a huge relief.
Adding to this, I also underwent genetic testing since my mother sadly passed away from ovarian cancer when I was just 11. Thankfully, the test results were negative, indicating I didn’t carry the gene mutation. However, after a few years and a move, I needed a new gynecologist. When I explained my history, including my heavier periods and approaching menopause, she suggested an oophorectomy (ovary removal). While the benefits are generally good, she acknowledged that negative genetic tests aren’t foolproof. A positive test indicates the presence of the gene, but a negative result doesn’t necessarily guarantee its absence.
The genetic test results were again negative, but this time with a higher risk score. This score indicates a slightly elevated risk compared to the average population. It doesn’t necessarily mean I have the gene mutation, but it allowed my doctor to justify the procedure to my insurance company and secure coverage for an oophorectomy (ovary removal).
While the necessity of justifying a medical procedure to an insurance company can be frustrating, that’s a discussion for another time.
I have an upcoming surgery in June to address a mass discovered in my uterus during a recent ultrasound. Doctors won’t know for sure what the mass is until it’s removed. Initially, my doctor recommended removing both my ovaries and the mass itself (oophrectomy with mass removal).
We also discussed a full hysterectomy, which would remove the uterus, cervix, and fallopian tubes. This option would eliminate any future concerns about the mass or other potential growths in the uterus. After careful consideration, I decided to proceed with the full hysterectomy.
I don’t talk to anyone who knew my mom, for their reasons, not mine. I don’t know what she went through as I was so young. I don’t know how she truly felt about the signs she had, only the visible ones. I know I am making the right decision, but it still scares me. The recovery is going to be about two months, which is why I scheduled it for the summer since I am a teacher, but still.
Right now I am just nervous while relieved I found this out now rather than later.
A Hidden Blight
Steel butterflies flutter in my chest, Wings cold and sharp, a nervous guest. June looms, a date etched sharp and clear, Surgery’s shadow, ever near.
A mass unknown, a whispered fright, My body’s map, a hidden blight. Ovaries, uterus, the choice unfolds, A path of loss, a story untold.
My mother’s journey, veiled in mist, A silent echo I can’t resist. Was she afraid? Did tremors shake, When faced with choices for her sake?
The scalpel’s glint, a sterile gleam, A stolen future, a waking dream. Recovery’s road, a weary climb, But hope remains, a flickering rhyme.
For health’s embrace, a price I’ll pay, Though fear still whispers in the gray. This body, tested, will mend anew.
The whispers twist like smoke and ash, A tarnish on a cherished past. They paint a picture, cold and gray, Of parents loved, now swept away.
Their laughter, once a joyful tune, Now echoes hollow, out of tune. Their kindness, once a warming sun, Deemed weakness by the thoughtless one.
It stings to hear their memories frayed, Their gentle hands as faults portrayed. The love they gave, a precious thing, Reduced to whispers on the wing.
But anger flares, a righteous fire, To shield their light, their hearts’ desire. Their legacy, a tapestry bright, Woven with love, and woven tight.
No whispered word, no careless tongue, Can steal the truth of what they’ve done. Their love remains, a guiding star, Though shadows try to dim how far
Their light has reached, the warmth they gave, A shelter strong, a life they saved. So let them speak, with words unsound, Their whispers lost on hallowed ground.
For in your heart, their memory lies, Untarnished truth in loving eyes. And when the storm has passed its peak, Their love will guide you, strong and sleek.
Whispers in corners, a truth veiled in shade, Family secrets, a burden long laid. A tangled web woven, by stories untold, But the future’s unwritten, a future I hold.
The weight of the past, may threaten to bind, But choices I make, shape the path I will find. No longer beholden, to echoes of shame, The power lies in me, to write a new name.
Unraveling threads, may bring understanding, But forgiveness is freedom, a future demanding. For what has transpired, I cannot erase, Yet lessons I learn, pave a brighter space.
The ghosts of the past, may linger and sigh, But their whispers won’t dictate, how my dreams take flight. With courage and strength, I break free from their hold, The future’s unwritten, a story untold.
My journey unfolds, with every sunrise, Defined by my actions, with truth in my eyes. Family secrets, a footnote may be, The future’s my canvas, a masterpiece free.
Oh, my precious child, my heart aches so, To hear of the bullying you must go through. I want to protect you from all harm, But I know that I can’t always be there with you.
So what is a mother to do? How can I stop a fight before it happens? How can I diffuse the situation?
First, I must listen to you, my child. I need to understand what is happening, And why you are being targeted. Once I know the root of the problem, I can start to develop a plan.
I can talk to your teacher, Or to the school counselor. I can also talk to the parents of the bully. Together, we can work to find a solution.
But most importantly, my child, I need you to know that I am here for you. I love you unconditionally, And I will always be on your side.
