It took me years to confront the reality of my son’s birth. I had always shied away from labeling my experience as “trauma,” believing it was a term reserved for more catastrophic events. However, as I reflect on the past decade, I can no longer deny the lasting emotional and psychological effects that have stemmed from what was one of the most difficult experiences of my life.
After enduring challenges with cancer and infertility, my partner and I were overjoyed to be expecting our first child in July 2009. While my pregnancy was mostly straightforward, it was incredibly uncomfortable, and I was relieved when labor finally began.
I labored for hours, pushing for what felt like an eternity before delivering our son, who weighed in at an impressive 8 pounds, 13 ounces, with vacuum assistance following a failed episiotomy that led to a severe tear. My birthing experience was far from what I had envisioned.
When he was born, our son was limp and discolored, with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. He was quickly taken away by the medical team. Moments felt like hours until I finally heard his first faint cries from across the room. In that moment, I was overwhelmed and exhausted, but the situation was about to escalate.
As the doctor began stitching me up, I could sense something was amiss. I heard the unsettling sound of liquid pouring onto the floor. My husband had stepped away momentarily to be with our son, but soon he would see the alarming amount of blood I was losing.
“Get an OR room now!” I could hear the urgency in the doctor’s voice as he barked orders. I was terrified but unable to open my eyes. I called out to my husband, who managed to whisper, “I love you,” just before I was wheeled away.
I was informed that I was experiencing life-threatening hemorrhaging and that a hysterectomy might be necessary. “Do what you need to do,” I responded, feeling both resigned and terrified.
Hours later, I woke up in the ICU, still connected to various machines. My first question was about the hysterectomy, and my mother’s tearful confirmation shattered any remaining hope I had. Although I was grateful to be alive, I felt a profound sense of loss. The family we had dreamed of seemed out of reach.
The recovery process was riddled with complications. My episiotomy and tear became infected, and the pain was unrelenting. I struggled to perform everyday tasks, and my attempts to bond with my baby were overshadowed by physical limitations and emotional turmoil. I wanted to breastfeed, but I was unable to, and the pressure I placed on myself only added to my distress.
I felt inadequate and overwhelmed as my husband returned to work shortly after our son was born, leaving me to rely on family and friends for support. I had numerous appointments to juggle, including postpartum check-ups for myself, baby care, and overdue cancer follow-ups. The emotional weight of having lost my ability to bear more children weighed heavily on me.
The doctor had acknowledged my emotional state and encouraged me to seek help, but I didn’t act on it. I thought it would be just one more burden to bear. In retrospect, I realize that I never truly healed from the trauma. The mental scars run deeper than the physical one that remains.
Now, as I engage in therapy, I am learning to process the trauma of my birth experience. If there’s one lesson I can impart to other women who may face a similar ordeal, it is this: it’s important to recognize and acknowledge that trauma exists. Don’t shy away from seeking help—physically, mentally, and emotionally—because grappling with it alone only prolongs the suffering.
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In summary, facing the truth of my traumatic birth experience has been a long journey, but it’s vital to recognize the impact it can have on your life. Acknowledging trauma is the first step toward healing.