Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Delayed entry... I'm a failure!

I originally wrote this on April 1st, over a week ago, but haven't had the guts to hit publish since then. But I figure, it's part of Katelyn's Story. I need to remember this. If you choose to read it, please note my use of language, especially "I FEEL" because I don't generally feel those things anymore. I was emotional when I wrote this, but I'm not anymore. I felt a certain way then, but I don't now. With those things said, and nothing further ado...

Well, label me incredibly freaking disappointed! I really did NOT want a c-section. When the doctor mentioned it around 7:00, I think I was in shock - I mean, talk about surreal! I was so mad at myself, and really let down. When the doctor left the room so Tim and I could talk, I completely broke down. I felt like I was such a disappointment. My body would be forever altered now - probably because my pain threshold is so low - because I didn't move around enough in early labor, because I didn't do those exercises they tell you about to get baby in the right position, because I was already so worn out. If I couldn't even give birth the right way, how was I going to handle everything else? Maybe I couldn't. Maybe I'm a failure. A faker. When they put her in my arms that first time, my first thoughts were how/why did someone (a) decide not to keep this absolutely beautiful baby, and (b) choose Tim and me to keep her?

Wow, that was a moment. An HONEST moment, but a real one. A dramatic moment.

Looking back, I wish I had waited a while to get the epidural, and I wish I'd moved around more, so she might have been in a better position. I wish I had done more to help myself have the experience I'd envisioned, so I wouldn't have felt like such a failure. But that's not how it worked out. And now I have a scar (and some mental trauma) to remind myself that I need to work on my pain tolerance and doing what I can to help myself have better experiences.

But scars aren't necessarily bad things. Scars are lessons. At least for me, they're reminders of experiences I've had, and lessons I've learned, so that maybe I won't need to repeat those lessons again. (This is speaking in general, not necessarily about the birth and c-section specifically.)

I have smaller scars and bigger scars, more prominently displayed and hidden ones. Each one is so personal. It's my body. Nobody else has the same scars as I do. Nobody else has the same stories as I do. And that's what a scar is, for me. It's a story. The time I rode in a recycling bin on top of my skateboard down the driveway, and landed splayed across the road, scraping my foot and knee. The time my nephew getting so mad at me that he clawed my hand. The time I made a difficult decision about the method that brought my daughter into the world.

At first, I thought that this newest scar would tell the story that I'm a failure. I didn't do what I could to avoid it, and so I'd have this mark forever proving my inadequacies. I feared it would show that I'm a failure. That I lack the mettle that makes "just some chick" worthy of the title of "mother." That I'm weak.

But I don't think that now. My scar shows that I did what needed to be done (tough decision and a ton of pain included) to bring our little girl into the world. It says that I can roll with the punches. I can make tough decisions. I can sacrifice myself and my body for someone I love. I'm tough. I'm strong. Or at least, I can be.

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