My First Cesarean

On September 15, 1995, I arrived at Prince George’s Hospital Center nervous and worried as hell for my 6:30 am scheduled induction.  My last OB/GYN appointment brought on concerns that I was developing pre-eclampsia, a serious condition marked by high blood pressure and other symptoms after 20 weeks of pregnancy. Due to this, my doctor thought it was best to have a scheduled induction on my actual due date.  At this point, I was 18 years old with no parents or elders around to assist or guide me through this process, so I was listening to the advice of my doctor. 

I had been living with my sister at her place on Taylor Street because I was still a ward of the state and couldn’t afford a place for me and my soon-to-be child to live.  My sister was there with me and was extremely excited to meet the baby that would make her an Auntie.  We didn’t have a clue if I was having a boy or a girl throughout my pregnancy.  I had state insurance and the only two sonograms I had revealed my baby with their ankles crossed, blocking the pelvic area.  My oldest cousin was also there with us to support me through the birthing process.  I wasn’t familiar with pain medications or opioids except for what I heard on television. I watched pregnancy shows on Discovery Channel in the hopes that it would prepare me for this day – but I certainly WAS NOT prepared.

When registration was complete, it was time to be wheeled up to Labor and Delivery to get this induction started.  Having my sister and cousin there helped me a lot, and my Aunt came by, which meant a lot because my relationship with my family was strained. Being on my own with no family support was extremely difficult. 

Once I was all hooked up and the medical team determined that my baby’s heartbeat sounded good and my blood pressure was stable, it was time to get the party started.  After a couple hours passed,  the nurses realized that my baby was very relaxed and the Pitocin, an oxytocin injection, they administered was not helping to kick my contractions in motion.  They increased the dosage and after about an hour, my OB/GYN came in to check my cervical dilation. I was just two centimeters dilated even though five hours have passed by.  To help the process along, my doctor literally stuck his hand into my vagina in an attempt to stretch my cervix open. I yelled for him to get his hand out my vagina or I would kick him in his face.  He obliged and apologized. Fuck that, that was PAINFUL. The doctor then broke my amniotic sac and said that he’d give me one more hour before we would have to prepare for an emergency cesarean section.  

Now, I read all about c-sections in the pregnancy book I was given, but I still feared it.  I had never had surgery before.  Surgery is huge.  What if something goes wrong? What if someone steals my baby? What if we both don’t make it?  All of these questions arose in my head and the anxiety of it all was debilitating. I felt defeated, but we weren’t anywhere near the finish line.  

An hour passed and I made it up to six centimeters dilated.  Reviewing the charts, the medical team observed my contractions, which were painful as hell,  and only 15 to 30 seconds long, when they needed to be between 45 seconds to  90 seconds long.  After hours of induced labor, my baby’s heartbeat was slowing down so my doctor decided: it was go time. 

As though this all wasn’t difficult enough, prep for the Emergency Cesarean began with a nurse violently shaving all the hair under my navel and pubic area.  Another nurse came in and jammed a catheter in my urethra.  Several nurses abruptly moved me around in various positions, then off I went.  

The OR (operating room) is freezing cold and uncomfortable.  I was already tired and doing anything at this point felt annoying.  An anesthesiologist came in to give me a spinal tap – whatever that is – and told me it’s to numb me so I don’t feel the pains of surgery.  I was exhausted and began to doze off when I felt  tugging and pulling. I realized I couldn't move the lower part of my extremities and my arms had been strapped down.  I began to vomit and a nurse quickly came to help my head sideways so I didn’t choke.  Next I hear, “It’s a boy!”  

My sister is cheering, “I knew it, I knew it, Oh My Gosh! Look at all that HAIR…”  

Then, DARKNESS.

DAZED AND CONFUSED.

MORE DARKNESS.

BODY TREMBLING…GLIMPSES OF BALLOONS…MORE DARKNESS.

My eyes slowly opened, it’s dark outside. What time is it?  I look at the clock and it reads 5:15 AM. I am in shock, I begin to panic, I locate the call button and push it to alert my nurse. The nurse answers, how can I help you? I yell, “WHERE IS MY SON?” Twelve hours had passed by and I had yet to see the love I carried in my stomach for 40 weeks.  As I waited for my son, I felt an urge to urinate, so I attempted to get up but it was extremely painful. My entire core was on fire.  I finally made it to stand up but only took a few steps before I realized I could not control my bladder. I was so embarrassed, but the nurse assisted me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.  Afterwards, I finally got to see and hold my son!  

12 Years Later

I’m 36 weeks pregnant with my daughter and decided to have a vaginal delivery versus another cesarean. Living on the 3rd floor of an apartment building is not easy during my final trimester.  I called my physician and decided to schedule a cesarean because remaining this way was too painful.  We got scheduled for 38 weeks gestation and the countdown begins.  The day before I went in for surgery, I taught my son how to make Barbeque Chicken Wings, Green Beans, and Macaroni and Cheese.  He would be staying home with our cousin, so I had to make sure he was good for the days I’d be at the hospital.  

March 19, 2008, I delivered a beautiful 7 lbs 11 oz baby girl. This time around it was not a long ordeal, as we had a planned cesarean and didn’t have to be induced.  The thought of surgery is entirely nerve wracking. For some reason, the anesthesiologist couldn’t get the placement of the epidural right. “Okay, enough with that. Can you call your supervisor or the head anesthesiologist down because you can’t stick me anymore.”

“Why is it always so cold in the OR?” I keep asking myself as I wait for the other doctor to get this spinal tap right.  BOOM. It hits me, what about the pain meds?  Should I say something now?  Spinal tap is done, and I am laid back down to continue the surgery prep. 

My sister enters the room with a smile that stretches from ear to ear.  She asks what took so long for them to let her in the room.  I shrugged, “Because this fool couldn’t do the spinal right.”

 I am completely numb from the stomach down and my doctor is talking me through the procedure.  I didn’t recall all this conversation happening 12 years ago.  Was I too drugged up to be coherent? Who knows, but I was happy that my doctor talked me through the procedure.  After a lot of tugging and pulling I hear, “Here she is!” with a loud cry following. I finally got to see my beautiful baby girl.  

 I’m still laying on the table because my hands are strapped down, there is a sheet in front of me, blocking my view. The doctor is talking but I am not paying much attention.  I was sooo thankful to have delivered a healthy baby and that I am alert enough to hear what's going on. 

I got stitched up and wheeled back to my room for my recovery period. After a few hours, the nurses came in for my vitals and to see how I was feeling. After about 20 minutes, my daughter was brought to me and the skin to skin bonding began.  

Hold the Opiates 

Everything hurts, every movement: laughing, coughing, sneezing, and the worst of all – using the bathroom.  The nurses came in like clockwork to give me my pain meds and I requested to take the T3 versus the opiates.  By this time, I am almost two years clean from any intoxicating favors.  I had been engrossed in watching Intervention on A&E and I was completely terrified of becoming a drug addict and having my children taken from me. 

The nurse was not pleased with my requests and stated that I have to take what my doctor prescribed for me.  I gave her the side eye and said, “Well, call my doctor and let him know that I am refusing to take the opiates.”  The nurse informed me that my doctor was fine with that but they would still send a prescription for my release in case I need something stronger than the Tylenol 3. 

It’s day three and we receive the prescriptions and get the final orders before packing up to go home. I was excited. I had a room full of family and friends awaiting our arrival.  After walking up three flights of steps, I begin to feel a lot of pressure and strong excruciating pains. I called my doctor’s office to explain the sensation, and I was told to fill my opiates prescription. The family and friends I had welcoming us were just as ecstatic as me. My mom brought me my prescription and I popped my first opiate.  Everyone is enjoying themselves and I thought it would be a great idea to start a movie.  We agreed on Adam Sandler’s Grandma's Boy. And this is when it began…

I was in tears laughing off senseless comedy.  I was laughing so hard the tears were flowing down my face.  I asked myself, why do I feel high?  These opiates got me feeling way too good. If I feel this good, how does my baby feel?  That is when I made the decision to stop the opiates. I am a nursing mom and I didn’t want to pass this narcotic off to my baby.  This is the beginning of my choice to never use opiates again.  I was terrified of becoming dependent on these meds.  I kept having visions of my kids being taken from me.  I could not understand why the hospital and doctors use this medicine to help patients recover.  

Watching Intervention, I saw the damage addiction does to a family.  I did not want that for my family and I definitely didn’t want to lose my kids to the foster care system. Four years later, I found myself in the same predicament and kept to my decision to not use opiates.  I had the same OB/GYN who was fully aware of my decision and respected it, thankfully.

February 2012, I gave birth by cesarean to a set of twins.  It seemed to get easier each time, and I was not in the excruciating pain I experienced back in 1995.  August 2014, I had another cesarean with the birth of our last daughter and still chose not to use opiates for my recovery.  Since then, I have had 3 more surgeries and I chose not to use opiates.  

Oxy to Cannabis
In October, 2021, I went in for a full thyroidectomy and the surgery team knew I didn't want to use any opiates. During my recovery period I began experiencing excruciating pain in my chest. The medical team ordered chest x rays and bloodwork. These additional tests delayed my release, but when the results came back all clear, the pain was still unbearable.   The nurse gave me a follow up dose of Dilaudid. The chest pain subsided and I was given my release papers. 

Once we got back home and settled, I woke up at 2am with horrible chest and back pain. After a long ordeal to get my prescription,  I caved and took 5mg of Oxycontin.  As the pain began to subside I went into deep thought about this unexplainable chest and back pain.  I came to the conclusion that it must be the morphine from the hospital triggering past injuries. After that conclusion I said to myself, “Man, forget these oxys. I'm using my oils n’ creams.” 

I couldn't eat one of my “medibles,” due to dietary restrictions post surgery so I started to use my Relieve.me Whipped Body Butter on the swelling around my incision and THC oil under my tongue. Just guess y’all, no more freaking pain!

On day seven, I hot boxed the bathroom with the shower going while I took a few hits and blew out the smoke, mainly for the moisture’s humidifier effect. Seven days post surgery and I finally ate a plate of dinner. Once I got the okay from my surgeon to drink liquids,  I made herbal tea blends infused with cannabis. I trust cannabis, period! I'm so happy that I listened to my conscience and chose to do what was best for me, rather than popping opiates as advised by doctors. We ALL HAVE CHOICES, YOU DECIDE YOURS!

LaWann Stribling 

OhSo STRIB’ble ®️