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I’m not ready!” I blurted out as I was being wheeled into my caesarean section, at 3.30 pm to be exact. I’d had it in the diary for months – it was well planned. But I felt terrified. I wanted to jump off the hospital trolley and make a sharp U-turn out of the building. The thought of having a new baby in my arms within 10 to 15 minutes threw me. It just felt too quick. The nurse rolled her eyes and looked at me in horror. “It’s a bit late now for all that, isn’t it?” she laughed. “You’ve had nine months to prepare. Surely having a baby can’t be a shock!”
Little did I know the whole experience was going to be hellish as we headed through the swing doors and into an operating theatre, where I was greeted by a team of doctors in green hospital scrubs. What did I have to complain about anyway? As the nurse pointed out, my surgery was running on time, so I didn’t have to hang around wailing in pain like other mums in the labour ward. I didn’t even have to push.
But I felt like I was being branded one of those “too posh to push” mums – even though a growing number of women are now opting for caesarean sections, according to new NHS data. One in four babies born in NHS hospitals in England was delivered by caesarean section last year. This is an increase from 23 per cent in 2022 and 13 per cent a decade ago. More than half of them were elective, a planned surgery that is usually carried out around the 39th week of pregnancy, as mine was.
Although most women seek C-sections for medical reasons, the NHS allows mothers to opt for them for non-medical reasons, too. I chose to have a C-section on the NHS largely because it was easier for me to plan my life around it. It meant that there was no screeching to a halt in my car outside the hospital, or my waters breaking in a taxi. I made my way to the maternity ward in a leisurely fashion instead.
But, despite feeling relaxed, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was somehow letting the side down by having a C-section. All I’d heard from other mums were tales of 15-hour labour marathons, usually in a pool of water sans drugs, and some dried figs and jumbo bags of nuts to munch for energy. What I realise now, however, is that having a C-section is just as brave as opting for a natural birth. It’s not the easy way out.
As I lay down on an operating table, I held my huge pregnant stomach and felt a little kick of my baby’s leg. The team were ready to cut me open. They were warm and friendly but in a hurry. The whole thing felt slightly eerie, as if I was in Rosemary’s Baby. It also felt as if I hadn’t properly processed my feelings about it all until there and then. I had desperately wanted a sibling for Lola, who was then two, but the reality of being a single mum with two children felt overwhelming. It’s not like I hadn’t thought it through carefully but until you have a baby, it’s all a bit unreal.
The anaesthetist said that if I wanted any more of that lovely drug to calm me down, he’d give me some more. My best friend Sonia stepped in: ‘No thanks, she’s been sober for many years in 12-Step recovery – I’ll make her a nice cup of tea’
The anaesthetist told me I’d have an epidural anaesthetic, which numbs the lower part of your body while you remain awake. This meant I could hold my baby straight away. My breathing became very shallow. I felt twitchy. I tried to answer questions and even smile, but nothing was getting through to me. I felt like I was in a bubble.
They started to put a tent-like object over my pregnant stomach. Then I went white as a sheet. It was emotional. It brought back all the grief of my partner’s death: he’d killed himself as we were in the middle of our IVF journey. I’d gone on to have our children after his death using his frozen sperm.
As they began to slice open my belly once I was numb, I started to have a full-on panic attack. The lovely anaesthetist reassured me and stroked my head, but nothing soothed me. It was absolutely not the time for a panic attack. My heart rate began to accelerate and he injected a drug into a cannula in my wrist. He told me that in a few seconds, I would feel amazing. He was right.
I suddenly saw the world through rose-tinted glasses; I felt like I was in a slow-paced tearjerker of a movie with a happy ending. As the anaesthetist held my hand supportively, I told him about my traumatic journey to this point. By the time they pulled my baby out, the whole room was weeping in joy.
It was Liberty. We’d done it. She’d been on ice as an embryo at an IVF clinic in Russia for two years – and now here she was. I held her in my arms and the anaesthetist told me he’d check on me later – and said that if I wanted any more of that lovely drug to calm me down, he’d give me some more. I looked up hazily. “Oh yes!” I said keenly. But my best friend Sonia, who’d been acting as my birth partner, stepped in: “No thanks, she’s been sober for many years in 12-Step recovery – she’ll be fine now. I’ll make her a nice cup of tea.”
I couldn’t move as my stomach had been stitched up but I managed to breastfeed my baby after I was given some heavy-duty painkillers back in the ward. I went home the next day. On top of dealing with a new baby, I had to dress my wound and make sure it didn’t get wet. I couldn’t drive for weeks. I couldn’t lift anything heavy, either, so I couldn’t pick up Lola. I couldn’t go to the shops to buy milk and bread as I needed to stay still, and it hurt to get dressed. I have a scar forever and I lived in fear of it opening up when I first got home, or of it getting infected.
I had desperately tried to have a traditional birth with Lola but it resulted in an emergency C-section two days after I was induced. The fetal monitoring showed signs that the baby was in distress. So it wasn’t like I didn’t know the ropes with a C-section – but it happened so incredibly fast I didn’t have time to think. I remember at the time feeling so disappointed with myself. I’d been to NCT antenatal classes and learnt how to breathe through the contractions. I had a bouncy ball; I listened to meditation tapes. I was so amped up for a natural birth that I didn’t let go of the concept until the bitter end. Now, though, I wish I’d just opted for a C-section in the first place.
The increase in C-sections is due to a growing number of complex births caused by rising obesity rates and women having children later in life. But many women, like me, just want to have greater control over when we give birth. And there are risks and benefits of both vaginal and caesarean births. According to Dr Ranee Thakar, the president of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists (RCOG), the RCOG “does not promote one form of birth over another”. Hospitals in England have also shifted from meeting targets that limit C-sections to helping support women to make an informed decision about how they want to give birth.
But despite all of this, there remains a stigma attached to women who choose to have C-sections for non-medical reasons – as if it’s spoilt or entitled. That’s unfair. The act of giving birth naturally is worn like a badge of honour – and it’s one that women who have C-sections don’t ever earn. The hard work of having a baby truly starts when you take them home but until then, let’s all just be a bit kinder about the choices we make when it comes to our birthing journeys. It’s one of the most stressful periods of someone’s life – let’s not make it any tougher than it has to be.
