I have had two emergency C-sections.
My daughter is four years old, my son is two.
With my daughter, the pregnancy went past 42 weeks. The doctors were not willing to wait any longer. Labor was induced—twice, using different methods—over two full days. Nothing happened. At 42+1, I was taken for an emergency C-section.
It was a traumatic experience, one I’ve written about before.
With my son, things were different, yet somehow the same. Because he has Down syndrome, I was told the risk of stillbirth was higher. I wanted to give birth vaginally. Physically, my first recovery had gone well, so the doctors agreed to try.
Again, labor was induced for two days. Again, nothing happened.
Eventually, my son had been without amniotic fluid for an entire day. We could not wait any longer. At 39+1, I was taken for another emergency C-section.
Both times, I went into surgery crying. Both times, I wanted to give birth myself.
Accepting a Planned C-Section
After four different induction attempts and two emergency surgeries, I have accepted that there will be no more trying. This time, it will be a planned C-section after emergency C-sections, shaped by everything I have lived through before. My due date is in April.
I haven’t had a single ultrasound or prenatal test for this baby. I’ve written about my reasons in previous posts. What matters here is this: I am well.
I sleep well.
I eat everything.
I have energy.
I spend my days caring for two small children, walking outside, writing, reading, doing housework. I go to choir, I sing, I play instruments. I’ve had infectious disease testing done and I am healthy.
The midwife I’m registered with told me I’ll need to see a gynecologist around 36 weeks. That’s when the C-section date will likely be set. I hope it will be at term—or as close to it as possible. I don’t want it too early.
Mentally, I am far better prepared this time. This kind of preparation is exactly what I lacked during my earlier pregnancies—especially with my daughter, when the C-section came suddenly and I was completely unprepared.
This time, the fear is different.
Living Far from the Hospital
We live in the countryside.
There are very few people here. The nearest town—with about 10,000 residents—is an hour’s drive away. Our local newspaper is delivered three times a week. Once a week, it lists family events.
I always read that section. And lately, it’s painful to see that there are simply no births. Week after week.
Birth rates in this region have dropped drastically. There has even been talk of closing the maternity ward—but that is not really an option. The capital city would then only be accessible by helicopter across the sea.
The hospital director has said that to maintain doctors’ skills, there should be several hundred births per year—ideally close to 500. Here, there may be 100. This year, likely fewer.
Even though I know all the doctors personally and haven’t had a bad experience with them, I’m afraid.
What if they haven’t performed a C-section in a long time?
What if something goes wrong?
The midwife reassured me. She said they have decades of experience, have delivered thousands of babies, and still do C-sections when needed.
I want to believe that.
But trust feels fragile.
What Is the Alternative?
What is my other option?
Go to the capital city and find accommodation for the entire family? I want to be close to home, close to the local hospital—but my confidence is shaken.
What if something goes wrong with the anesthesia?
I truly hope that birth numbers increase in the coming months. I want a surgeon and anesthesiologist who are fully in practice. I know, rationally, that they are—but lack of routine always increases the risk of errors.
Experience has taught me something else too: I stay in the hospital for a long time.
With my daughter, I stayed five days because I simply couldn’t get up.
With my son, I stayed twelve days—he had many tests and couldn’t regulate his body temperature.
Will this time be even longer? Seven more days? Nineteen days in total?
The midwife says that’s unrealistic. But it’s also my lived experience.
People I Fear Seeing Again
There is also a midwife at the hospital whom I absolutely do not want to see—neither before nor after surgery. During my pregnancy with my son, she said things to me that were so cruel that even now, I fear for my baby’s safety around her.
That fear hasn’t left me.
Getting to the Hospital
Then there is the question of how I will even get to the hospital.
I won’t drive myself—it makes no sense to leave the car parked outside the hospital for so long. My partner can’t take me, because he needs to stay with our four- and two-year-old. I am not willing to be in the hospital with the baby and my partner while the other children are left with grandparents.
The grandparents simply don’t have the strength to care for them alone for an extended time. Children need at least one parent.
With my son, we were in the capital. My partner and daughter slept. I took the bus early in the morning and dragged a heavy hospital bag through snowdrifts.
This time, at least, it will be spring. I’ll take a small suitcase with wheels. Easier.
If my partner were to take me this time, the children would need to be woken, dressed, loaded into the car. The day would begin in chaos—crying the whole way. I don’t want that.
I also don’t want to go to a hotel alone the night before. I want to spend the last evening as a family of four. I want to read bedtime stories. I want to hug my partner.
I don’t want to ask anyone else for help either. Experience tells me people don’t help. When my son needed ear surgery, I asked neighbors for a ride. No one agreed. We went together at six in the morning. It was incredibly hard on my daughter.
Waiting and Letting Go of Control
The best option for me would be to take the first bus alone in the morning—but that would get me to the hospital after 10 a.m. The midwife said they likely wouldn’t agree to that.
But why must I arrive early? My previous C-sections were at 12:30 p.m. and 11:30 p.m.
We’ll see.
For now, I wait. I breathe. I take one day at a time.
You are not alone.
If you would like to go deeper, you can buy the e-book Our Journey – A Different Path for honest reflections and lived experience beyond this post:
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