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In 2019 I discovered I had a fibroid measuring 17cm in the outer wall of my uterus. The mass bulk had caused a copious amount of monthly bleeding throughout most of my early 30’s and my ignorance to gynaecological issues including fibroids meant this growth in my tummy had largely been ignored. It wasn’t until it began to distend my stomach making me appear as if I was several months pregnant that I realised my womb needed attention.
Ironically, by the time I had been diagnosed with the fibroid I was in a position where I wanted to embark on the journey of motherhood. I was told my best chance to have a baby was to remove the fibroid but due to its large size the surgery would be quite considerable and require a few nights in hospital.
Despite Covid 19 affecting non- urgent operations I was able to have my fibroid removed in 2020. The operation lasted 3 hours and I have a 17 cm vertical scar as a reminder of its presence. My body immediately felt physically lighter upon its removal, the mass weighed and measured about the size of a 5 month foetus and the surgery was a pre-cursor to the c-section I was eventually going to have with my daughter Sanna. However, I was not prepared for the internal and emotional process of healing after carrying such a weight which took lot longer than I anticipated, especially the realisation about how detached I had become from my womb over the years. I worked a lot on my childhood wounds and relationships issues during my recovery, I spent a lot of time making ceramic womb like objects and intuitively drawing abstract marks as to process it all. The cathartic art making serving as my therapy and my way to document my journey. The surgery had given me a new insight into the magic and power of the womb and its potential. I had previous always been an advocate of holism and natural remedies and reflected on why I I had not seen this and dealt with it earlier. I was incredibly grateful to the surgeons and availability of free treatment on the NHS as the stubborn mass I needed surgical intervention by the time I finally could face it. The surgery was seen as a success and I recovered well enough with no adhesions or follow up procedures.
By the end of 2021 I had an ultrasound to see if any fibroids had grown back as I was aware I would be prone to them. I was relieved that none were found, but was told I had adenomyosis which no doubt was a bi-product of the intensive surgery. The news was disappointing and I began to let go of being able to get pregnant, we had been trying for a year to no avail. I shed a few tears and decided to just not focus too much on it, perhaps it was a matter for the universe. It was a surprise when I discovered I was pregnant in January 2022.
My actual pregnancy was a joy, with little complications aside from a bit of pelvic pain whilst walking in the latter heavy 3rd trimester stage. I was deemed “high risk” due to my scar tissue from the fibroid removal and was strongly advised that a caesarean section was the best plan due to risk of uterine rupture. At the time I felt like a failure and that I would miss out on the rite of passage of vaginally pushing out life. It was something I had to reflect on and mourn. I looked into research around delivering vaginally after a classical incisions and fibroid surgery, it was an under-researched area and I did not feel the need to insist I labour vaginally and be a case study. I made the decision to have a section and referred to it as a tummy birth.
Some clinicians had varied opinions of when I should have my tummy birth with some consultants suggesting I have it at 36 weeks, as they were worried a contraction would tear my scarred womb in half and did not want to run the risk that I might labour early. Intuitively I felt that 36 weeks was too early and it was understood at my final appointment that I would try to get to as near as 39 weeks as I could. My unborn daughter seemed very cosy inside and I thought about natural delivery and whether she could have been a 41 weeker had she been left to her own devices. However, she was born in on a Friday morning at 38 weeks and one day at the tail end of a London heatwave.
The birth itself was a surreal event as I am sure all birthing people would explain, like an unconscious, but conscious dream. A lucid dream that felt plucked from beyond the universe, an out of body experience but visceral all at the same time.
My birth journey took place in a hospital where the room was bright, clinical white. I lay in an oneiric fugue intubated with various amounts of numbing drugs including the mother of all epidurals. I couldn’t help but think of the film 2001 Space Odyssey by Stanley Kubrick and wondered if I was indeed giving birth to a child or a creature from out of space. My carefully selected playlist of songs began to play Supernature by Cerrone as the surgeon prised my blood covered daughter from my tummy. I saw her squashed bloody face ripped from her dark cosy cocoon and I burst into tears. Despite the anaesthetist saying I was losing copious amounts of blood- which they were in the process of salvaging I felt delirious and emotional- like I could not quite believe what had happened. They placed my daughter on my chest with my partner photographing the events and cutting the cord. I could only feel my body from my tits up, so her squishy amniotic fluid filled skin was the only thing I could feel -the rest of my body was like a numb wound. I was aware my belly had been cut but felt nothing.
As they stitched me up and transfused me with some donor blood I was wheeled to recovery room, where I lay for 12 hours. My blood loss totalled 2.5 litres and they were able to salvage a 1 litre of my blood and filter it back to me. My daughter lay sleeping on me in her favourite position curled up on my chest, mimicking the breech position she had found herself in inside my womb. The cocktail of morphine, fentanyl, epidural and oxytocin relaxed my physical body- it is hard to recall the pain if there was any despite the bloody start to her life.
As the day progressed I got some physical feeling back and I was able to be discharged to the labour ward with the other new birthers. I held my daughter in my arms and on my chest unable to sleep from the sheer wonderment of it all. 20 hours passed by and despite her healthy birth weight, healthy tears and rosy complexion, my daughter began to labour with her breathing and upon further investigation it appeared her lungs had not cleared the mucus from her amniotic sac. This meant it had compromised her ability to get oxygen into her blood and after a diagnostic test it was discovered that her blood oxygen levels had plummeted to 65% and an emergency intervention was needed to get her oxygen levels to the normal rate of 92 or above. This meant she needed pure flow oxygen delivered via tube in the neonatal intensive care unit for at least 36 hours. Once again my daughter was ripped from her cosy place, but this time to a ward and not my arms.
Despite having a stitched tummy, catheter and several canulas I ran to the ward where she was taken feeling utterly bereft and this separation. Pain had well and truly left the room and I was floating in space at this point. As they settled her and created her care plan I was numbed into silence. I was devastated that we now had to be apart after what felt like an epic delivery, upset that I was unable to hold her and breast feed her, as she now was intubated and lie in intensive care bed, screaming her head off as they tried to deliver their surgical interventions.
Despite the set backs I was determined to breastfeed her - recognising and feeling intuitively it would be the best medicine for her. I managed to pump milk by Sunday when my milk finally came in. I pumped consistently throughout her time on the ward and mimicked breast feeding with her, whilst she was filled with food via a tube to help practise her latch. When we finally were able to breastfeed together without tubes and alone, it was the most magical thing and was captured on video by my partner. Breastfeeding is still where we share our closest bond together and I felt fortunate we were able to do it with very little trouble. We were in hospital for a total of 5 days which felt like an eternity at the time. Those 5 days I had experienced almost every high and low there was to be had, life and death felt very literal.
When I look back it feels like a distant dream and despite some of the more difficult parts of the birth and the journey in getting there I would not change any of it at all.
