Sarah's birth video and poem
*interesting note: I let one of my brothers read this poem several months ago and he asked me, "does an oyster die when it's shucked?" Yes, it does.
Shucked
To think of myself as an animal
led to the slaughter
not really choosing
They stripped me
they shaved me
they shot me
full of fear
so I'd be losing
All the feeling
but the feeling never goes
I heard 'oh you won't feel anything'
when I couldn't move my toes
First the
needle
then the
knife
and they say that it's all right
they say I'll feel some tugging
but I don't, I just feel nothing
I was screened from my body
it's bloody
the baby, where's my baby
there's the baby
could be anybody's baby
They take it away
and I'm left on the table
I want to be happy
but right now I'm not able
To see past the blood and the light
and the screen
strapped to a table
the end of the dream
Gutted and cold
in pain and alone
unable to speak, or to cry or
to moan
But the
hate
and the
anger
and the
pain
will subside
after I've grieved
after I've cried
I won't have the nightmares
or wake with such fright
I'll think back and smile
on that terrifying night
This new wrinkly baby
so tiny and pink
at that moment all I could
think
Of was my pain and
my fear
but what about you?
so cold and so scared
so little, so new
I hold you and my scar
and I know what to do
I'll weep and I'll mourn
then I'll tuck it away
doesn't mean it's not there
but I'll keep it at bay
So now when I think about how
my baby came into this world
I choose to think of myself as an oyster
and my beautiful baby
the pearl.
* * * * * *
I was going to share my son's birth poem and video but I'll save that for another day because right now I want to talk about the last two stanzas of this poem. Why did I feel the need to "make nice" at the end? Is it that little voice inside of me, the one that after hearing so many people chide me for hating my section-surgery, finally starts to agree and say tie the laces neatly at the end. be a good girl and play nice, now. This poem should end with the line, "Unable to speak or to cry or to moan". What upsets me most is that this poem was written six months after the surgery and it wasn't written to share with anyone. If I had written it with the intent of sharing it then I could understand why I felt the need to basically negate all my strong, painful feelings by including that crap about the pain subsiding and tucking my scar away.
Here's my point: This poem was a personal poem, written for myself. After just six months of hearing "you should be grateful" I had already begun to internalize that and guilt my true feelings away. How many women are out there, two, three, ten years out from their section-surgeries, who initially were very much not okay with it, but then after hearing that they should be grateful for a healthy baby and that just being alive was all that mattered and that it doesn't really matter how a baby comes out. . . and now they live among us disguised as "I loved my section" women? How many of these women are out there? It's a sad, bizarre charade.
Mothers, don't hide behind your "My section wasn't that bad" mask. Because those who believe you are following you down the hall to the operating room, and those of us who don't believe you hurt for you.
If you would like more information about cesarean awareness and prevention please visit www.ican-online.org