Esther’s Birth – Part II
Introduction
Part I
So my next priority became finding a way to switch doctors and medical facilities. I had to find one that would allow me to attempt a VBAC, and none of the hospitals where I live do them anymore. At about 6 months’ gestation, I was going back to my general practitioner for a referral. This, of course, presented its own set of challenges. The insurance didn’t quite understand why I wanted to go to a hospital so far from me, and my GP thought I was crazy for wanting to put my baby in “jeopardy.” Getting him to agree to it took some time, but after two months, and with very little time left until my due date, I was finally allowed to see doctors down at Loma Linda, adding VBAC to my preferred method of delivery.
I was referred to the at-risk OBs there, however, and my particular OB wasn’t very favorable to the idea of my succeeding at having a VBAC. He gave me very little hope of being able to deliver this baby vaginally. He was sure that because I had such a big baby the first time (9 lbs, 9 oz) and wasn’t able to deliver her, that my second baby would be no different. He told me that I would have a sonogram one month before she was born, and if that sonogram predicted the baby would be as big or bigger than Abby, he would recommend another c-section. Even though my reading had informed me that even having had a large baby, my body was designed to accommodate whatever size baby it made, I didn’t question his expertise. That’s one resolve I made at the very beginning: I would try for a VBAC, but if the doctor I was seeing cautioned me against having one, if they slammed the door on this option, so to speak, I wouldn’t question it; I would submit to their expertise, to their sound wisdom and authority.
So I had the called-for ultrasound, and of course, as even I knew, this baby was big. At the time the ultrasound was taken (about 4 weeks before my due date), the technician was estimating her to weigh about 8.5 pounds. Babies can gain a half-pound to a pound a week in the last month of gestation, so this put her easily at 9.5 to 10 pounds at the minimum by D-Day. I could hear Beethoven’s Fifth pounding across the keys in my ears; c-section here we come. I hadn’t yet seen the doctor, but his words – “If this baby is as big or bigger than Abby was, I will not recommend a VBAC” – laid grounds for the inevitable.
Part I
So my next priority became finding a way to switch doctors and medical facilities. I had to find one that would allow me to attempt a VBAC, and none of the hospitals where I live do them anymore. At about 6 months’ gestation, I was going back to my general practitioner for a referral. This, of course, presented its own set of challenges. The insurance didn’t quite understand why I wanted to go to a hospital so far from me, and my GP thought I was crazy for wanting to put my baby in “jeopardy.” Getting him to agree to it took some time, but after two months, and with very little time left until my due date, I was finally allowed to see doctors down at Loma Linda, adding VBAC to my preferred method of delivery.
I was referred to the at-risk OBs there, however, and my particular OB wasn’t very favorable to the idea of my succeeding at having a VBAC. He gave me very little hope of being able to deliver this baby vaginally. He was sure that because I had such a big baby the first time (9 lbs, 9 oz) and wasn’t able to deliver her, that my second baby would be no different. He told me that I would have a sonogram one month before she was born, and if that sonogram predicted the baby would be as big or bigger than Abby, he would recommend another c-section. Even though my reading had informed me that even having had a large baby, my body was designed to accommodate whatever size baby it made, I didn’t question his expertise. That’s one resolve I made at the very beginning: I would try for a VBAC, but if the doctor I was seeing cautioned me against having one, if they slammed the door on this option, so to speak, I wouldn’t question it; I would submit to their expertise, to their sound wisdom and authority.
So I had the called-for ultrasound, and of course, as even I knew, this baby was big. At the time the ultrasound was taken (about 4 weeks before my due date), the technician was estimating her to weigh about 8.5 pounds. Babies can gain a half-pound to a pound a week in the last month of gestation, so this put her easily at 9.5 to 10 pounds at the minimum by D-Day. I could hear Beethoven’s Fifth pounding across the keys in my ears; c-section here we come. I hadn’t yet seen the doctor, but his words – “If this baby is as big or bigger than Abby was, I will not recommend a VBAC” – laid grounds for the inevitable.
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