Sunday Confession (Insecurities) #1

I follow a blog called More Than Cheese and Beer that hosts Sunday Confessions. Today's confessions are about insecurities. Here's the first:

I had a combination Pulp Fiction/Lifetime movie moment during the birth of my son. It all started with the hospital suggesting pitocin to induce labor 1 day after my due date. That morning, October 19, 2005, at 6 am, the nurse started the pitocin and put the monitor on my very rotund belly, only she didn't secure it properly. For hours I was having contractions while nurses told me I was not and continued to up the dose of pitocin. After finally figuring out the monitor blunder, the nurses said the pitocin was far too high and the contractions very strong and decided to back off on the drug completely for awhile. I labored for 12 hours in this way before I finally saw my doctor. Nurses said I was dilating fine, but as soon as he saw me, he knew something was wrong and checked. One side of my cervix wasn't dilating at all. I had also been telling the nurses that despite my epidural, I was still hurting in my pelvis and vaginal area. They laughed it off and said that was impossible. The doctor noticed my elevated heart rate and blood pressure and suggested I have a Cesarean. I cried so hard. It was the last straw on a really awful experience. He gave me 45 minutes to see if things would change, but I know now he only gave me that time to come to terms with the surgery and calm down. By the time he returned, though, I was screaming in pain. I couldn't hear, couldn't talk, couldn't see. My heart rate and blood pressure continued to rise so high that as the surgery began and the numbness finally calmed the pain, I managed to tell someone how badly my chest hurt. Someone was immediately called to get a shot of Inderal to slow my heart rate down. It was well over 200 at this point. While this person was poised above me a la Pulp Fiction with an injection that would keep my heart going (though it wouldn't exactly have been stabbed into my chest), I heard my son cry for the first time. My body responded immediately, and my heart rate slowed on its own. Afterwards, while I was still too shaky from the side effects of the fentanyl used to numb me to even touch my baby, the doctor came to check on me. He said, "I was worried we might lose you there for a minute."

I'm insecure about the horrible scar I have because the doctor had to rush. My life was at stake; he couldn't take time to make sure it wouldn't be bad. I'm insecure about the way the Cesarean changed my body. I'll never get rid of that pouch of flesh. I'm insecure about my entire birthing experience. I'm insecure that I can never have another child--I'm too scared now to try. I don't know what combination of factors really caused that reaction in my body, and I can't or win't risk leaving my son without a mom. And, finally, I'm insecure because of the abortion I had in 2010 out of that fear.