So in yesterday’s post I mentioned that my doctor told me I could choose between a C-Section and a vaginal birth this time. Then he told me it didn’t really matter what I chose, because either way I could die, and my chances of doing so were equal in both cases.
I may have been a little over-dramatic.
NOT that I’ve EVER IN MY WHOLE LIFE been known to be OVER-DRAMATIC before.
Well, maybe once or twice.
I mean the doctor didn’t say it in so many words. It was more like, “You can do this, or you can do that. There is the possibility of complications with both. And the small percentage of risk is the same.”
But the nurse really did ask me if I’d written down on paper my wishes should they need to take heroic measures to save my life. For the record, I’d like every heroic measure imaginable taken, but I don’t want to be a vegetable. There. If she asks again, I’ll tell her I blogged it.
I don’t really think I’m going to die from child birth. The risks are very small in my case, and there is some risk with any pregnancy, even the most normal.
We’re all about choices in our society. And having a choice is a right and a privilege. We’re supposed to be thrilled about having choices. But when there’s not a clear cut winner between choices, it kind of takes all the fun out of it.
It’s just one of those things that strikes me as ironic. Why don’t they just come out and say what they mean? “If you do die, you and everyone else will be happier knowing that you chose to have the procedure that killed you. And they can’t sue us as easily.”
It’s like those prescription drug commercials that tell you how wonderful the drug is, and then proceed to lists 512 side effects that sound worse than the illness that the drug treats. When I see those commercials I always think their motto should be, “Our drugs will kill you, but you’ll feel better just before you kick the bucket!”
My gut instinct tells me to go with the C-Section again.
I had a great experience last time.
No, I’m serious.
I had a scheduled C-Section because David was breach.
I laid down on a table, 30 minutes later, viola, I had a baby. I was numb from the tip of my toes to the bottom of my breasts for hours. By the time the epidural wore off whatever drug I was mainlining had kicked in nicely. I can’t really remember feeling any pain.
Or maybe I just can’t really remember.
It worked for me.
I had someone waiting on me round the clock for four days. All I had to do was push a button.
I also had round the clock nanny service.
I had three meals prepared for me daily. I even had a menu to order from. Let me just say they have made huge improvements in hospital food. It was pretty good.
But the best part? The shower had a very comfy seat in it. If you’ve never had the pleasure of sitting down, and enjoying a nice hot shower, you simply must try it.
Really, it was kind of like being on vacation.
I was a little sad when I had to go home. Like when I would cry when our plane would take off from Hawaii. When we used to go on vacation to Hawaii. You know. Before kids when we still did extravagant things like that.
(Oh, yes. I lived! I lived once!)
So I was pretty much settled on the C-Section. Then we found out we were having a boy again.
See the doctor also told me if I wanted more children after this, I should try the vaginal birth. I had a an ovarian cyst removed at 22, and the incision was in the same place as my C-Section incision. Cutting a third time would mean a greater risk of complications for the next pregnancy.
I was sort of hoping for a girl this time.
Were this a girl I’d have no problem saying I’m done. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t enjoy being pregnant.
Now I’m thinking maybe, just maybe, I want to try one more time.
Even so, my gut tells me to go with the C-section.
One thing I have learned from experience is that it’s usually best to go with my first instinct.
Still, I’m torn.
What would you do?