When the senior doctor opens her abdominal wall with a scalpel, Sarah (name changed by the editors) screams in pain. The only reaction from the doctor: "The stomach is already open." A birth report that reads like a nightmare.
My little daughter is an absolute dream child. When I was pregnant, a new era began for me and my boyfriend. We looked forward to being parents forever, and I enjoyed my pregnancy every day. We affectionately called the little person in my stomach blueberry and we could hardly wait for the day our little blueberry was born. Fortunately, we didn't know what to expect at the time. Was I worried about the birth beforehand? To be honest, not a bit. I am an optimistic person and I didn't mean to drive myself crazy.
Undignified from the start
But this birth was no walk in the park from the start. I had excruciating pain for many hours and the PDA did not provide any relief. After 26 hours of labor, I asked for a c-section with a heavy heart. I wanted so badly to experience a natural birth, but I found that I had run out of strength. I was relieved when the midwife, who spoke very little to me, finally called the senior doctor. But she just looked at me sternly between my legs and said she didn't understand my logic. It makes no sense to want to spend five days longer in the hospital instead of giving birth to the child naturally. At this point, nothing was further from my mind than to discuss logic. The first words of the senior doctor intimidated me immensely. Tears came to me because I didn't feel heard. I had been trying to give birth the normal way for so long, but I was completely exhausted.
I couldn't defend myself against the Kristeller handle
Instead of speaking to me and listening to me, the senior doctor suddenly lay down on me and pushed my stomach down with all her weight, while I was also supposed to press. I knew very well what she was doing. We had talked about this practice, the Kristeller handgrip, in the antenatal class. Although we had been told that this should no longer be used, I did not have the strength to defend myself. I was just terrified that the contractions would be raised even higher. Until then, I had only known such a feeling of extradition from nightmares. After it was finally determined that my child would not make it out of the birth canal, all I felt was relief. I was shoved into the operating room, trembling all over. My friend wasn't allowed to come along at first. "We'll get the little one out in my shift," I heard the doctor's voice muffled from a distance. I still didn't know what this resolution would do.
I felt the cut
Trying to insert the large surgical catheter caused me excruciating pain. I kept telling the doctor that, pressing my legs together. She forcibly pulled them apart again and put the catheter in place. The anesthesiologist injected the PDA, and then the upper part of my stomach was pinched. I immediately said that it hurt me. "Wait a minute," I heard the anesthetist's voice. But the next moment I felt the cut in the lower part of my stomach. I was completely exposed to the pain and fear and couldn't defend myself. In panic, I kept shouting that I could feel everything, but the senior doctor didn't stop. Her only reaction: "The stomach is already open." I could no longer see properly, I felt dizzy with the pain, as if from a distance I heard my daughter scream at some point. A scream that I couldn't manage myself.
I thought I died
Then I must have had an injection of medication because my window began to blur. My eyes rolled up and I had to close them. The voices around me became an ever louder roar. I saw brightly colored patterns and colors and thought of my daughter, whom I had just heard screaming. I really wanted to know what had happened, where my daughter was and my boyfriend. Panic riddled my mind and it was only fear that I felt. My body feeling dissolved, I no longer had any physical limits, could no longer think and flew through different levels, no longer knew who I am, where I am, what I am. Everything was just a river of colors and sounds. I was sure: I am dead.
The first thing I saw again was the anesthetist looking at me overhead. I asked him what that was and he just said: "Yes, that was awesome wasn't it?"
Part of me was torn out of me that day
Hours later, when I finally held my daughter in my arms, I thought I was in my arms. It was like they tore me out of myself. There was no feeling of happiness, rather it scared me terribly, this child on my arm that was supposed to be mine! It also took a few hours before I could see clearly again with both of my eyes and were completely back in reality. I couldn't be happy that this child so longed for was now in the world. I did as the sisters told me, but my feelings were not those of a happy mother.
Gone and yet not over
Today I love my daughter with all my heart. She is now a year old and we have a wonderful connection. Still, nightmares haunt me night after night: Will my daughter ever have a sibling? I dont know. Even if the caesarean scar has long since faded, the wounds in my soul are far from healed.
Editor's note: In a few weeks, a court will rule on the case. We wish Sarah a lot of strength for the process.