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Writer's pictureJennifer Abbott

In a room full of people, I've never felt more alone

This mother's story brought me to tears as I read it. It brought me back to those chaotic moments in the delivery room when I was scared and exhausted and felt like I had completely lost control over the "perfect natural birth" that I planned for.


She chose to remain anonymous but was happy to share her story in hopes that I would shed some light on the debilitating effects endometriosis can have and her experience with a traumatic birth.


I'm going to put a disclaimer here to any pregnant person who has not yet experienced birth - this may be a challenging post to read and you might want to wait until after your own birth to read it. If you do choose to read it, know that every birth is different and your story will not be the same. Also, it might be a good idea to have some tissues close by...


"My path to motherhood was anything but linear. I had never planned on becoming a mom. It was something I had no interest in doing and I knew this from a very early age. But something in me changed, and as I went through my life my thinking shifted. Maybe I do want that. Maybe motherhood is something I want to experience. As something in me clicked and my want of motherhood grew stronger, I also knew that getting my hopes up was a dangerous thing to do.


I was diagnosed with endometriosis when I was 20 years old. Getting to that diagnosis had been a frustrating, demoralizing experience. I had seen many physicians about my symptoms which included debilitating cramps and irregular cycles. With a family history of endometriosis I expected this to be the cause of my pain. I had been offered birth control prescriptions and prescription pain relief to help - which for a time did take the edge off. Eventually those failed too, and by the age of 19 I would miss a day or two of university and/or work each month, just trying to cope with the flu-like symptoms and intense physical pain. At one point I asked the physician at the university medical clinic if this was endometriosis to which I was told, “you’re too young for that” despite my knowing that any woman who menstruates is a candidate for the disease."



"After I found a good family physician who treated my pain and my concerns with respect, I had a diagnostic laparoscopy which came back with endometriosis. I had endometrial lesions on a few areas in my abdomen and it was the culprit, explaining my pain and other symptoms. Endometriosis has no cure and it can range in severity. Mine wasn’t severe but the specific locations of my lesions were causing the problems I experienced. Removal of endometrial lesions isn’t typically successful since the lesions just grow back. Radical hysterectomy is the only way to truly stop it. I had decided this was my best path but was denied the surgery, again deemed too young but this time it was because the medical team felt that this was a permanent solution to a potentially temporary problem. Endometriosis morphs and changes over time and my symptoms may lessen on their own. They may also worsen. Mine did. It was then that I was advised that pregnancy was typically associated with an easing of symptoms, though it didn’t seem to me the right reason to have a baby.

By the time I was in my late twenties, I had decided that maybe the biggest gift the medical team had given me was time. I needed that time to think, and I was starting to think that motherhood was a possibility. I was thankful that this choice was still mine to make.


However, it came with some caveats. I had been warned since that diagnostic surgery that endometriosis carries with it a few inherent risks. First, if I ever decided to have children the path would likely be difficult. I would probably struggle to conceive, and may not be able to do so without intervention. Second, if I did successfully conceive, keeping the pregnancy would be tough. This is because endometriosis leaves the uterus lining patchy, so an embryo would struggle to implant fully. My risk for miscarriage was high. These things were made all too clear to me on a regular basis. The reminders came that time would make my struggle worse. That age was not on my side. That if motherhood was in my plan, I needed to do it sooner than later. But still I waited. By the time I was in my mid-thirties, I had successfully transitioned from one career to my next. I was mid-graduate school and saw the finish line on the horizon. It was time to start trying, but also time to brace for the painful possibility of losing one or more pregnancies. I was ready physically, mentally, and emotionally.


The first month that we tried I was certain nothing would happen. It doesn’t happen that soon, not the first time, not for women with endometriosis. And yet that little stick in my bathroom said I was in fact, pregnant. The joy that spilled from my heart that day was more than anything I had ever felt. Then came the fear. Can I hold on for 9 months? Each check up, each ultrasound, every belly measurement was a step in the right direction. I didn’t fully let my breath out until I hit 26 weeks. The baby’s chances were growing every day along with my belly and I loved every. single. second. of it.


When I started inching closer to my due date the extra appointments came as they often do. Discussions with my medical team about the delivery, the logistics, it was all happening so soon. My due date came and went, but nothing happened. Days after my due date, I went for my weekly checkup. I was 40 weeks pregnant and despite two sweeps, nothing was happening. I was 1cm dilated, was fully posterior, and no effacement. I was sent to the hospital for a cervical ripening balloon which basically puts pressure on the cervix and encourages effacement and dilation. Think tampon that inflates into a mandarin orange. Sounds fun, right?


At the hospital they decided I wasn’t a good candidate for the procedure because I wasn’t even a full 1cm – apparently the clinic physician was overly optimistic. So we were sent home for dinner and asked to come back for full induction. When a bed was available at 3am that night, we got the call and made our way back to Labour and Delivery. By the time it was all said and done, I had my waters mechanically broken at 6:00am. My body was then expected to go into labour on its own. It did. At first. The waves of cramps started, and I breathed through it all. I spoke with my nurse and explained that I was willing to do anything to make sure my girl got out safe and sound. The only two things I was opposed to were induction and episiotomy. Anything else was on the table. Strike one was already against me."


"I had always been told that endometriosis was

a good primer for labour because the intensity

of endometriosis pain helps prepare you for contractions. That’s a lie.

Nothing prepares you labour."


"Around 10:00am I had my last meal. It was July and happened to be Stampede breakfast at the hospital and that was the last thing I ate. I knew things would start progressing soon, and the cramps worsened from there. Around 11:00am my nurse noticed meconium in my discharge. Baby had pooped and I knew that was not a good thing. Her heart rate was becoming erratic though it stabilized. I was worried, but being new to this and optimistic, I soldiered on. By noon I was put on a Pitocin drip to help move things along. The cramps came fast and furious. I tried to get by with breathing techniques, some nitrous oxide gas, and a dose of pain relief. I had always been told that endometriosis was a good primer for labour because the intensity of endometriosis pain helps prepare you for contractions. That’s a lie. Nothing prepares you labour. The cramps intensified, and I entered rolling contractions. I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand. I was stuck in a half-bent position holding the bed, struggling for breath as the contractions came one after the next, unrelenting. I called for the epidural. I had made it clear from the start that that was an option though my nurse questioned me. “Are you sure?” she asked several times. I was sure of the epidural but certainly not of her.


When the numbness took over and they checked my dilation I was only 5cm. And there I stayed for many, many hours. My Pitocin drip was cut back in hopes that my body would take over. It did not. In fact, my body had started to stop the process: a failed labour, so they had to jump my Pitocin back to full throttle. My daughter went in and out of distress. My waters had also drained too quickly. They inserted a catheter to put more fluid back in. They strapped the fetal monitor to my belly to watch her closely. Baby’s head wasn’t engaged anymore. I positioned to help her turn but it wasn’t helping. I asked the physician if it was time to call it in, to set up the c-section, get my girl out safely. “She’s in distress, things aren’t going well, we’re headed towards a cesarian anyway, let’s do it now before things get worse.” She asked me to wait, that these things happen. She told me that yes, it was likely that I would end up in surgery but to wait and see if it was avoidable. “I’m not opposed to it, so long as she’s safe, I will heal.” She brought in my two nurses (shift change mid-labour!) to talk me down. I agreed to wait. She went off-shift. No consult to OB-GYN was made.


My new physician came in to check on me around 10:00pm and to everyone’s surprise, I was 9cm. I could start pushing. About an hour later, that’s just what I did. I pushed, I did everything I could, everything I was told to do. I took breaks when I was told to. Then I pushed some more. My daughter’s heart rate started dropping. My temperature started spiking. Other physicians were instructed to care for the women in other rooms. My nurse and physician wouldn’t leave my room. No one told me why. Around 3:45am, my physician left to get OB-GYN to consult. My nurse sat beside me. The physician came back with a team from obstetrics. They said, “a couple of things are going to happen now. You will see there are going to be more people coming in the room. Your daughter will be a code green because of the meconium. So the resuscitation team will be in here with us. You have done an amazing job and we have no doubt you could finish this. But we need to get your baby out, so we’re going to help her. I’m going to use some forceps, I’m trained in this. There is no time for a c-section, that would take us about 40 minutes to get you to surgery and ready and we only have 10.” My own infection setting in, exhaustion and confusing swirling I simply did as I was instructed. What else was there to do?


"I never got to hold her. I didn’t get that time to just feel her against my skin, to look at her, to take her in."


About 20 people had entered in the room – most for baby – and ready for the delivery. I remember pushing once, twice, maybe a few more times but suddenly my daughter was being placed on my belly as my husband and I looked in awe at this little miracle we had waited so eagerly to meet. It was 4:14am on a Thursday morning. The room was silent. My daughter didn’t make a sound, but she reached out to curl her tiny fingers around mine. They suctioned her, gave my husband scissors to cut the cord, and then they took her away without a word. Before I had time to process it, she was in the corner with the resuscitation team. She wasn’t breathing. My husband went to look. They sent him back to me. She was being intubated and her lungs suctioned to ensure every trace of meconium was out. But we didn’t know that at the time. They put her in an incubator and left, my husband back by my side, “they’re taking her to NICU. What do I do?” he said. “Go with her. She needs you. I’ll be fine. Just go with her.” I never got to hold her. I didn’t get that time to just feel her against my skin, to look at her, to take her in. She was whisked away before I knew what had happened and with her, my husband. I was left alone in the delivery room with a team of physicians and nurses telling me the medical side of my situation, and all I could think about was how do I get to my daughter?


“We did a little episiotomy” they said. They did what? I didn’t want that. They hadn’t warned me. The fluid had kept draining despite the infusion and her cord had become wrapped around her neck. They had to get her out to save her life. But in hindsight, if they had done the c-section when I asked 12 hours prior, her life wouldn’t have been in jeopardy. “You’ll be on IV antibiotics for a day or two” they said. “You have an infection from the meconium”. But they wouldn’t tell me which antibiotic was coursing through my veins. “Your husband can meet you on the ward” they said, but they didn’t tell me when I’d see my daughter.


After the room cleared, my nurse could sense my anxiety. My need to see, to touch, to hold my girl. She brought me to the NICU and found our girl. She was covered in tubes. She was on a CPAP machine to ensure she was getting enough air. She had a naso-gastric tube to buff out any of the air that may get into her belly. She had an IV and three failed attempts at IVs – bruised from her fingers to her elbows. Her left eye was swollen shut from the forceps. But when I sat at her bed, looked down and said, “hello, my little love, I’m your mom” her head turned with so much intention that there was no doubt, she had been waiting for me.


Our daughter spent 2 days in the NICU. Her breathing and oxygen levels stabilized within 24 hours. She remained on IV antibiotics to ensure that any meconium wouldn’t cause pneumonia which would be life-ending at that age. Despite her difficult entry into this world, she was strong. She was to be released to Rooming-In, a program where a parent can sleep in a room in the NICU with their baby. My discharge papers were signed and ready to go. But I passed a clot. The kind of clot they warn you about: twice the size of a deck of cards. The nurse came to check on things and found that my bladder was distended. I had too much fluid and it needed to come out. I would not be discharged afterall. My girl would stay tucked away from me, in the NICU. After trying all things non-catheter, in the end I had to have a foley catheter put into my bladder. They drained over 3L initially and another 1L shortly after. I was told that I was likely hours away from kidney damage. The forceps, long labour, episiotomy or more likely all of the above, had caused my bladder to seize up. Put simply, I couldn’t pee. My bladder no longer relaxed enough to empty. The catheter would give it 24hrs to heal.


After the catheter came out, I passed ‘the pee test’, got approval from the medical team, and was finally released from the hospital. In all, it was a six-day stay. Our daughter was released to me from the NICU on day 3 as expected, lungs clear and free of infection but we were both kept on the ward until my bladder was in working order. Every day was a rollercoaster of fear, joy, frustration, and happiness. I refused to look at my delivery as a loss, since I gained so much more. In time I would come to grieve the delivery, to face the realities of what happened that day, and to sort through the anger. Anger at the medical team who didn’t listen to my initial wishes. Anger at me for not advocating for myself and trusting my gut. Anger at all those physicians from all those years ago, who had me believe that motherhood would not be a likely outcome in my life. But I’m a teacher. It’s what I do. So I chose to learn from my experiences, to trust myself more, and to find it deep within to forgive myself for all of the ‘could haves’, and to love the woman that was ultimately, in the throes of becoming a mother."


"Motherhood has changed me. Cliché, I know. I’m more

forgiving now. More patient. More vulnerable. People talk

about the ways that having children change their world

views and I suppose it did mine, too."


"It’s been almost three years since I became a mom. Three years since I held that little girl in my arms and whispered I love yous over and over, for the very first time. Motherhood has changed me. Cliché, I know. I’m more forgiving now. More patient. More vulnerable. People talk about the ways that having children change their world views and I suppose it did mine, too. But not in the grandiose ways that give meaning to life. For me, becoming a mom changed how I see the future, what I hope for this world, what I want for my girls as part of something bigger than themselves. Becoming a mom means that while I still have ambitions for myself, I also make time to appreciate the little things in every day. Perhaps even moreso now. I feel joy at watching my kids learn new things. I feel overwhelming love when they giggle. I notice the simplicity and beauty all around by simply looking at the world from the perspective of my girls. And yes I said girls. After another shockingly easy conception and a second healthy, happy pregnancy, we welcomed our second daughter by scheduled c-section in December, 2020. It was textbook, uneventful, even dare I say – easy. I had learned from all those experiences, from my first birth, after all. I had trusted myself innately this time. I got to hear the screams and cries of a baby just entering this world. I got to see, touch, and snuggle her in her first hour. She was by my side every minute of her first days of life. Her arrival was safer for all of us, but she’s just as strong, perfect, and loved as our first."

Is this story not RAW and BEAUTIFUL at the same time? The struggle and pain she endured through endometriosis. The joy of her conception and pregnancy. The heartbreak and anger of not having the birth experience she had envisioned. And the amazing experiences motherhood has brought her.


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