A few weeks after I gave birth to my 3rd little boy, I met a new mother in church who brought her two-week old with her. She ended up leaving early, but not before I had a chance to speak with her. I hadn't seen this woman since she announced her pregnancy, and I was worried about her for multiple reasons. She normally sits behind my family and entertains my children during the meeting. We've never been close, but I enjoy talking with her when I have the opportunity. I consider her a friend.
When she told me she was pregnant, we talked about birth options briefly. It was only brief because I could tell very early on that she was not open to the options outside the mainstream. The choices she wanted I could tell would most likely lead to a cesarean section. I politely mentioned this point and brought up a few risks she may not have been aware of, praying that she would at least consider forgoing some of the more invasive drugs. She brushed it off...exactly the same way I did with my first pregnancy.
When she returned with a baby, before I was able to approach her, I noticed many others coming and going, all fawning over her beautiful little baby. I couldn't exactly blame them. There's something about tiny humans that pumps the rest of us full of oxytocin. But not one of them asked about the mother. Sure, they all spoke to her, soliciting details about the baby's birth weight and age, etc. But not one asked her how she was doing.
That's an easy way to make a messed up woman who desperately needs support after giving birth feel even more like crap. It's the same message: “you're baby is healthy, so how you feel doesn't matter.” Even if that isn't the intention, that's how it'll be interpreted by the person who needs help, but doesn't know how to ask for it.
I'm not claiming to be a saint or anything, but I regrettably have some experience in this area, so when I came to her, I didn't ask about her baby. I didn't tickle his cheek. I didn't comment on his outfit. There were plenty of others who could fill that role. I right away asked her how she was doing, if she was recovering well.
Turns out she wasn't. Not at all. As I predicted—and I'm not happy at all about being right on this one—she had an “emergency” cesarean. Failure to progress. “Emergency” my eye!
Her incision site was infected and she was in constant agony. But true to form, and just like every other woman I've met in her situation, she hid it behind a fake smile.
No one asked
So she never told.
Instead she pretended to be happy, because that's how everyone expected her to be. After all, no one died. What did she have to complain about? Her baby was healthy. It doesn't matter that she wasn't—that getting out of bed was excruciating, or that she was privately on the verge of tears from the constant pain.
I passed on what recovery information I knew off hand, and then directed her to the ICAN website for more help. I just find it amazing that if I hadn't asked, no one would've had any idea.
So if you have a baby and I ask about your well-being before congratulating you on your healthy baby, it's not because your baby isn't beautiful, and it's not because I'm seeking an I-told-you-so moment for a mainstream hospital birth gone bad. It's because I care about YOU.
That hasn't changed just because you had a healthy baby.
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